by Bell, Gradyn
Alicia watched as the two of them left, one so tall and dark and the other shorter, stubbier and blond. Putting her arms around Simon, she led him into their bedchamber. They had been apart for many months and their coming together was a joyful reunion, not only of the body but of the soul. Their marriage was not only one of convenience and the acquisition of estates; it was one of those rare cases of true love. Simon had been smitten with Alicia from the moment he had first seen her as a child. The fact that she was a de Montmorency, granddaughter of a queen, had interested him little. Had she been the daughter of a weaver he would have felt the same.
As they lay together, Simon marvelled at his wife’s beauty. She had borne him three children already, yet she was as slim as the day he had married her. Her long blond hair was still lustrous and her face bore no trace of the worry she had felt for both her husband and her son whilst they had been away. She had managed Simon’s estates in such a way that they had prospered, and she had had no doubts about leaving the running of them to a steward in her absence. Everyone on the estates at Montfort knew that their lord was a fair but hard taskmaster, and there was not one man or woman who would wish to run afoul of him upon his return. Simon garnered respect, but it was Alicia upon whom the devotion of all of the workers at Montfort was bestowed.
“While you were away, you had great troubles, milord.” Her fingers traced the new lines etched in his face.
“It was a total disaster and a complete waste of time. Not only that, it was a disgrace.” Simon sat up. “Alicia, you cannot comprehend the duplicity of the Doge. He forced what remains of our army—all but a few of us who left—to capture Zara, a Christian city, a city whose leader was one of us, one who had taken the cross! Instead of fighting the infidel, they fought and slew Christians. I tell you, Alicia, never was anything so infamously done! The Holy Father has excommunicated them all, yet I hear they are going to attack Constantinople next, another Christian city!” His face grew grave.
“There is talk that booty is not all the knights are interested in. The Orthodox Church holds some interesting relics and you know how the Holy Father would like to get his hands on those! He would pay a great premium if any of the knights brought him back parts of the true cross or anything else so singularly blessed. It is well known that he has no real feeling for the Eastern Church, even though they are our Christian brethren. There is a fabled cloth held by the Byzantine Emperor which is said to have great powers of protection. How the Holy Father would like to own that!”
“What sort of cloth is it? How can a piece of cloth have powers of protection?” Alicia asked with a puzzled expression on her face.
“It is a piece of linen that it is brought out any time the city is in danger. They say it protects the inhabitants and gives them the courage to fight. It serves as a rallying point and has several times protected the city of Edessa. It would be a great boon to our soldiers should we get our hands on something like that!”
Alicia looked at her husband’s face. She knew very well what turning down this opportunity to go on a Crusade had cost him. He was a soldier through and through, but he was also a man of religious principal who could not and would not attack a Christian city.
“They have even persuaded de Joinville to go,” he continued with bitterness in his voice. “His uncle is a Grand Prior of the Templar Knights. Not that he would have persuaded Geoffrey to go. The Templars have taken a vow to never attack a Christian city, so what Geoffrey is thinking of, I don’t know! It’s certainly not the monetary gain. The de Joinvilles are not poor! I tell you, never was I more disappointed in a friend!” By this time Simon, had worked himself into a rage.
“Calm yourself, my darling. It does no good. Geoffrey must have his reasons, and you cannot change what has happened or even what is going to happen. You are here now, in this beautiful countryside with your family all around you and your good friends, too. Surely that is something to be thankful for!”
“You are right, my dear. There is nothing to be gained by fretting over things I cannot change.” He lay back again amongst the rich furs and silk coverlet. “Now tell me, how is Guy settling in here?”
“He is a shy boy, very quiet, one who thinks a great deal and says little. Not at all like Amaury.” She laughed. “He loves animals and spends most of his time in the mews with the falconers. He is not so keen on the tilt yard, though.”
“We must try to change that. Falconry’s all very well for leisure time, but he must start to learn to protect himself in the battlefield.”
She looked at him. “He’s only eight. He’s not like Amaury. Amaury is like you and loves nothing more than a battle. Guy is a dreamer. He’s very sensitive. He’ll feel our departure very keenly when we leave him here.” She began to look worried at the thought of losing another son.
“Speaking of dreamers, did I tell you that Amaury thought he might like to be a troubadour?” Simon said, grinning. “Fortunately, the notion lasted only a few days. He fell in love with the idea on the journey here, and fancied himself quite the performer. But after I spoke to him—quite sternly, as a matter of fact—he soon saw how impractical it was!”
Alicia laughed out loud. “I cannot imagine Amaury as a troubadour. He would not have the patience to learn the songs, let alone the voice to sing them. You did well, my husband, to turn him from that cause! Perhaps he’ll offer to sing for us tonight, along with all the other singers.”
“Have you heard him sing lately? His voice is up one minute and down the next! He’s fast becoming a man and we should soon be looking about for a wife for him.”
The idea of a wife for Amaury did not sit well with Alicia, who still considered him her baby. “He’s still a child in many ways. Oh, I know he is tall and strong for his age but he still has a great deal to learn about the ways of the world. Perhaps he should have gone on the Crusade. He would surely have grown up then.”
As soon as she had mentioned the word ‘Crusade’, Alicia knew she had made a mistake. Simon’s face darkened and she could see another storm brewing. Hurriedly changing the subject she said, “I have discovered something, my husband, since my arrival here that has worried me somewhat. Did you know that our host’s sister Esclarmonde is one of those believers? They call themselves Cathars.”
“I had heard rumours but did not know that it was common knowledge.”
“It is also whispered that since she has been widowed she will become a perfecta—I think that’s what they call the elders of their church. Isn’t it odd that they allow women the right to speak in church matters, as they do the men? They say she has visions and is a mystic and goes about spreading heresy against Holy Mother Church.” Alicia paused to cross herself devoutly. “There are thousands of Cathars in this area. I think Raymond-Roger tolerates these people, although I understand he is not one of them. He does a great deal of business with the Cathars. You may even find yourself sitting down to dinner with some of them.”
“Not if I can help it.” Simon declared fiercely. “I do not wish my boys to be contaminated by these teachings. Do you think it safe to leave Guy in Bernard’s service?”
“I have not heard anything untoward about Bernard and his wife. I’m sure they are as devout as we are. Esclarmonde will not be at table tonight. She has gone to Castela, so you need fear no contamination from her.”
Simon looked relieved. Their sons, especially Amaury, were vulnerable to ideas and easily persuaded. He wished them to have no contact whatsoever with anything that would lead them away from the Holy Catholic Church and the paths of righteousness as he saw them.
Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. The company was very mixed and Simon and Alicia renewed many friendships. Because Simon had been away and Alicia had been busy on their estates, their social life and their visits to other castles and their friends had been curtailed. Many of Simon’s friends had been away on the Crusade with him, so their wives had been in the same position as Alicia. As they took their places in the hall w
here all the long boards and benches had been set up, Alicia looked about her, somewhat fearfully, seeking to identify anyone who might be contaminated with the heresy.
Simon laughed at her openly. “Do you think they wear signs about their necks, proclaiming themselves?”
“No, I don’t think that at all, but it is best to be on our guard, isn’t it?”
“It’s not something you can catch, like a disease. The best way to find them out is to watch their behaviour. Bernard tells me that we would be surprised by the people who have become convinced their way of believing is the only true way. They are even willing to die for what they believe to be the truth. He says a great many nobles have been attracted by what these perfecti teach, and that Esclarmonde de Foix will not be the only perfecta who is high born!”
Alicia could not conceal a shudder and looked around, as if to reassure herself.
Grace was said by the Spanish priest, Dominic de Guzman. De Guzman came from a noble Spanish family and was travelling through that area of Occitania at the request of the Pope. The cleric, who would later found the order of the preaching brothers of the Dominicans, was already concerned by what he judged to be a great falling away of the faithful from Holy Mother Church in this heresy-ridden part of the country. He had come recently from Toulouse and Carcassonne where he and other Catholics had attended a meeting with the heretics in an effort to convince them of the error of their ways. What he had discovered had alarmed him. He had had no idea of the extent of the growth of the heresy. Full of compassion for those he perceived as lost sheep, he had spent several weeks trying to win back to the fold of the Church those who had strayed.
Seated at the high table in the place of honour in Foix, he regaled the assembled company with the tales of his disturbing findings. “They have made a deal with the devil,” he said. “They spit upon the Host, the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, and they trample on the cross. It has been reported to me that they dance naked at dawn.” He lowered his voice. “I have even heard they have sexual orgies.”
While most of those seated within hearing distance of de Guzman seemed not to be worried by what the cleric deemed as portentous news, Simon and Alicia listened in horror. They, too, had not realised the speed and strength with which the heresy was spreading. They were even more surprised to find that several of the southern nobility professed to be interested in the teachings of the perfecti; not least amongst them their host, Raymond-Roger de Foix.
While not a believer himself, he valued his friends who were. And while he could not, as he had said, subscribe to their views on Good and Evil, he could not help but admire the kindly and austere way of life they led. Besides, he had continued, and this appealed greatly to him, since they did not recognise the sacrament of marriage, the ordinary believers could change their bed partners at will. There was never any need for divorce!” There was a general laugh when he had said this, for everyone present knew of their host’s sexual proclivities—even his long-suffering wife. Simon, however, didn’t find it the least bit amusing.
“Are you saying they can just move from one woman’s hearth to another?” he asked, “without even a divorce or annulment?”
Raymond-Roger nodded. He could see the value in this, even if Simon couldn’t.
“But what about the children? Who takes care of them?” Alicia’s concern for the children was apparent.
“Oh, they do well enough. They are always well taken care of. There is a strong feeling of brotherhood amongst them and they know they can rely on each other. I understand they give women an equal role in matters of their belief, and that they even preach.” Domingo shook his head at the folly of all this. “What could women truly know of religious matters?” he said. “Their role in life is to be subservient to their husbands, produce children when and where necessary for the continuation and enlargement of estates and take care of their husbands’ property while the men are away fighting Holy Wars.”
At this neat definition of the female’s position in society, even the very devout Alicia looked askance. She cast the misogynist Dominic a glance that could only be construed as disrespectful.
The entertainment began after one of the nobler servants paraded around the boar’s head. There were still many dishes to come—proof of the kitchen staff’s artistry—but these would be enjoyed with an accompaniment of music provided by several troubadours who had arrived at varying times over the previous few weeks. Often the scions of noble families, they usually travelled in pairs and sang in the local language, which most northerners found difficult to understand.
Amaury was pleased to show off to his mother his newfound knowledge of Occitan, which he had been at pains to practise while he and his father had been en route to Foix. He was able to translate a few of the songs. Alicia hadn’t the heart to tell him that the melodies and words were old friends to her. She had heard them all before at her father’s court and, indeed, at Thibaut’s. Marie, Thibaut’s mother, had been a well-known singer and composer herself, having learned the art at her mother’s knee in Aquitaine, the birth place of the troubadour movement.
Guy and Amaury were seated at some distance from the high table, so most, if not all, of the conversation about the heretics went by them unheard. Their senses were occupied, as were those of most of the young squires in the hall, by the presence of Petronille, Bernard’s beautiful seventeen-year-old daughter. They gazed at her in rapt admiration as she sat at the high table with her father and new stepmother. How Amaury wished he was sitting beside her. He watched as she daintily fed her husband the tastiest morsels she could find from their shared trencher. Surely she couldn’t really be married to that fat old man, Gaston de Bearn, Amaury said to himself. What elegance, he thought. How divine she was. What a waste! He was sure that given the chance, he could compose a poem that would impress her. Alas for poor Amaury and all the other young squires similarly smitten, she did not even notice them, her attention centred fully on the troubadour who was at her feet, singing a plaintiff love song.
Amaury tossed and turned in bed that night, but peaceful sleep would not come. Petronille wafted in and out of his dreams until finally he woke with a start to find himself in a wet bedgown. Scrambling out of bed, he looked down at himself in disgust. Was this what all the other boys had joked about? He had heard them talking but until recently hadn’t bothered to join in the bawdy stories they told each other. His father had spoken to him about the dangers of whores, and he had seen enough rutting animals in his time to know what was happening to him. His only shame was that this…it could only be described as a mess…had anything to do with the glorious Petronille.
Fumbling around in the dark, he found another bedgown and climbed back into bed, relieved that Guy was sleeping with the other younger pages. At least he wouldn’t be able, however innocently, to tell anyone about his big brother’s disgrace.
Bright and early the next morning, Guy appeared in Amaury’s bedchamber. Amaury, who had spent a restless night, was not happy to see him.
“Come on, Amaury. I’ll take you to the mews to see my hawk. I’ve been training her since I’ve been here and she shows a lot of promise. The falconer says I have a good way with the birds,” he said proudly.
“Go away!” Amaury shouted. “I don’t want to see your blasted hawk. I just want to sleep.”
“Well, I’m going anyway! Petronille has her hawks there and she flies them nearly every day. Did you see her last night in the hall? Don’t you think she’s beautiful? I’m going to marry her when I’m old enough!” Not waiting for a reply to his questions, Guy took himself off at a trot for the castle mews.
Stupid child, Amaury said to himself. She’s already married. It was then that the import of what his little brother had just said hit him. Petronille and her hawks! That meant she might be down in the mews at this very instant. Leaping out of bed, scarcely taking the time to wash or even dress properly, Amaury dashed after Guy, who was gratified to see that his brother was interested in his ha
wk after all!
Sadly for both boys, the lovely Petronille had left the care of her hawks to the falconer that day. She had gone to bed late and would spend most of the day recovering her strength and making ready for the continuation of the wedding celebrations for her father and stepmother. The boys would not be able to see her until that evening. Amaury felt he would burst if he did not see her sooner!
Chapter Eleven
Occitania, South of France
1206 AD
The Templars and the Linen
The first thing Arnaud, Bertrand and the other two perfecti accompanying them glimpsed as they approached the castrum of Montsegur perched on top of the mountain, was a golden eagle lazily circling the fortress that was now virtually in ruins. The sun’s glint on the bird’s feathers was in stark contrast to the forbidding black silhouette of the pile of rocks which made up the fort while the mewling cry of the huge bird echoed eerily down the mountain. A track led to the fortress, three thousand feet up the mountain, set amongst the huge peaks of the Pyrenees. Twisting and turning upwards, the rutted narrow path, almost impassable in places, had made the fortress very nearly impregnable, set as it was on a huge rocky outcrop that could only be accessed from its westerly side. It stood, glowering above the little village which had sprung up below.
When the group of four perfecti arrived in the settlement, they could see that a monumental task lay ahead, for even from the bottom of the mountain it was obvious that the fortress above was little more than a pile of stones. Although it had never been large by the standards of other fortifications in the area, its great value lay in its unassailability, a fact that had been discovered in Roman or even earlier times when the first settlers had found a place of refuge there.
The four men were foot- sore as they had been walking the mountains for several days. The Lady Esclarmonde had asked that two other perfecti, Raymond Blasco and Raymond Mercier, Deacon of Mirepoix, accompany her friend Bertrand, and Arnaud to survey the project for the rebuilding that would need to be accomplished over several months. There would be no shortage of labour and certainly no shortage of willing hands to bend to the task, for several believers had chosen to stay in this most inhospitable of places. They had come to this spot for the peace it offered as a retreat for prayer and study. The village that lay below the fortress was therefore home to several dozen bodies, some permanent and some more transient. They would be only too glad to lend a hand to reconstruct a permanent fortress, for who could tell what misfortune might befall the believers in years to come.
