The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil

by Bell, Gradyn

  “I have heard that de Comminges has gone over to the heretics. Not that that is any surprise,” Dominic stated bluntly.

  Simon looked sadly at him. “Yes, Brother Dominic. Before this is over we shall be fighting not only friend-against-friend but brother-against-brother. What a sad situation we find ourselves in. And all because of the damned heretics! Why can’t they accept the truths of Holy Mother Church?”

  “I have seen and spoken to too many of them to know that they will never do that. They would rather die than recant their beliefs. If it were possible that our Catholic believers held a faith so strong, we should not be fighting this war. I have seen with my own eyes how their elders live and teach by example amongst those most poor and needy. They gain converts daily, and that is one of the reasons I have begged the Holy Father to allow me to found a brotherhood of mendicant preachers to go amongst the people as the perfecti do, to try to win back our people who flock to their cause. Several good and holy men have joined me here to help in my work. It will not be long before we have the backing of the Holy Father. And then we shall see a change!”

  Dominic’s face took on a fervent glow and his eyes fairly shone as he spoke of the work his new brotherhood would begin. “Already I have founded a convent a few miles away from here in Prouille where female believers may come to be saved.” His face clouded over somewhat. “I must say there have been only one or two women so far who have joined the convent, but it is early days yet. There are many who will wish protection when they rejoin Holy Mother Church, if only from their own families. There will come a time when the convent will come into its own, of that you may be certain.”

  Simon looked anything but certain. Suffering the recent losses of the gains he had so rapidly made had wounded his pride. Whereas at first he had attributed his success to Divine intervention, he was now uncertain as to how he had lost God’s approval.

  While they had been talking, Amaury had ridden up the line to join his father.

  “No need to ask who you are,” Brother Dominic said in a manner that could only be described as jovial. “Jovial” was not a word often attributed to the character of Dominic, but he was plainly pleased by what he saw in Amaury, whose height and appearance so closely mimicked that of Simon.

  Simon looked fondly at his oldest son. “Yes, this is my son Amaury, who will join us in battle. He wishes to win his spurs. Already the men find him a good leader; several have flocked to join his brigade! When the time comes, on the day of his knighthood, we will call upon you, Brother Dominic, to do the honours for him. We shall have reason to be proud of him one day, of that I am certain.”

  Amaury dismounted and bowed to Dominic. What he saw was a man of medium height with reddish hair and very piercing eyes—so piercing that Amaury felt he could see right through him. He did not much like the feeling and quickly turned to speak to his father.

  “Father, I have news that may well cheer you. I have heard that Maman is on her way back from the north with a large army of reinforcements and that many heretics are running before her to hide in the mountains.”

  “Good! The more who flee, the fewer there will be to foment trouble. They do not fight, but what they do is more difficult to conquer. They are as elusive as the early morning mist, disappearing just as you get close to them.” He turned towards the cleric. “And now, if you please, Brother Dominic, if I may quarter my soldiers in Fanjeaux for a short time, they would be glad of the rest. Our battles will begin in earnest upon my wife’s arrival. There will be no rest then, that’s a certainty!”

  Dinner at the convent that evening was a frugal affair, based on Dominic’s idea that food for the body was in no way as important as food for the soul. Amaury could not suppress the look of disdain on his face when he was served the thin gruel that passed for soup. For the brothers, it was something of a party, unused as they were to more than one course at each meal. Even the wine was better than usual in honour of Dominic’s influential guests.

  At the end of a very sparse meal, everyone rose to go—the Brothers to their interminable prayers; Simon to ensure his men were well-quartered and fed and the horses taken care of; Amaury to find some of his soldier friends, who would surely have something left for him to eat. How the brothers managed their lives as wandering mendicants with only a begging bowl to their names Amaury could not imagine. Some of the postulants were as young as he was, and as tall and strapping. He could not imagine the privations they must be undergoing or the depth of faith that supported them in their endeavours.

  After prayers, Simon and Dominic held a private meeting in the cleric’s very sparsely furnished cell. Simon had to crouch to get through the door opening; the cell had plainly been constructed for someone of less physical stature than he. At first the conversation was in general terms, but each of the men knew he was not there for a social visit.

  Simon started the discussion in earnest when he told Dominic what his campaign plans were and where he would be striking first. He would wait for the weather to break a little and then, after Alicia had arrived with reinforcements, would go first to Bram where he would settle a debt for an incident that still rankled him. He did not disclose his plan to Dominic, believing it best to guard his counsel in case the preacher tried to dissuade him from his intended course of action.

  He need not have worried. Future events would show that Dominic would have had no intention of stopping Simon’s progress as he was making his way through the beleaguered area of Occitania. What interested Dominic more than hearing about Simon’s battle plans, however, was the bombshell that the military leader dropped on him just as he was preparing to take his leave of the Prior.

  Casually, as he was leaving, Simon mentioned Arnold-Almeric’s quest for the miraculous piece of linen that had disappeared so suddenly from Constantinople. It was a well known fact that in the last few years Dominic had set up a spy ring second to none. If the linen were in the area, Simon felt sure that someone, somewhere, would have passed the information on to the preacher. Dominic was dumbfounded when Simon went on to explain the importance of the material, indicating the Pope’s belief that it was the shroud of our Lord. The cleric denied all knowledge of the linen but was willing to take the Pope’s word for what it was

  Dominic’s eyes, which had threatened to droop earlier, suddenly began to gleam as de Montfort filled in all the details he had been given. Although he was at pains to tell Dominic that the search for the linen and, more particularly, the reason for the search, were to be kept secret, he believed that if Dominic’s wandering friars could not ferret out the hiding place of the linen, no one would be able to. He accepted Dominic’s offer of assistance, with the proviso that his friars be told as little as possible and that they take a solemn oath of secrecy.

  The weather that winter was not kind to an invading army. Simon had to cool his heels around the town of Fanjeaux where he began to build more permanent barracks for his men. Daily he expected the Red Count to attack, and daily his army waited in vain. The rain and mists overhanging the mountains and valleys in Occitania throughout the winter dampened everyone’s spirits. The vapour had a way of creeping into the bones and staying there. No one could get dry, even sitting by the roaring fires which were kindled to raise the men’s morale.

  As always happens, winter gave way finally to spring and the even more welcome arrival of Alicia with the troop reinforcements sent by the Pope. Although this army was not as imposing as the one Simon had first commanded, it was nevertheless one that gave him a capacity for action he had been missing in the previous few months. It mattered not that it was comprised of soldiers from many areas and countries, who spoke differing languages.

  Anxious as he was to gain back the territories he had so speedily lost the previous year, he was eager to institute a veritable reign of terror. He and his generals decided it would do no good to attempt to take back all the chateaux and fortresses one by one. These people needed an example, and by the Holy Cross, they would get one
! Occitania would tremble at his onslaught!

  Simon chose the town of Bram for his lesson to the people. Reinforced with the Crusaders his wife had brought back with her, the size of his army had virtually doubled. His excuse for the attack was that there was a French priest hidden there who had, it was said, betrayed the Crusader cause in Montreal by opening that town’s gates to the legitimate Occitanian suzerain who had been previously dispossessed. Added to this, Simon was still itching from the anger he had felt at the response Giraud had made when his uncle had been murdered the autumn before. Not content that Simon had punished the two knights responsible for the old man’s death, Giraud had inflicted a terrible and bloody punishment on two of Simon’s other knights. Now it was the turn of the Captain General of the army to wreak his revenge.

  It was a small town, Bram, with few defences, sitting as it did on flat and open countryside. There were a few ineffectual walls and gates surrounding it which the townspeople courageously closed when Simon’s emissaries arrived to discuss surrender. It was over in a matter of a few days. Bram surrendered and Simon took a hundred men prisoner. He treated them exactly as Giraud de Pepieux had treated Simon’s French knights—he cut off their ears and their lips and put out the eyes of ninety-nine of them. The hundredth man was left with one eye so he could lead the others to the small fortress of Cabaret nearby. They were sent off across the plain and around the foot of the mountains, each man holding on to the shoulder of the man in front. They arrived in Cabaret to the wails of the townswomen and exclamations of horror from the knights there. Only Giraud de Pepieux was silent; he was amazed to discover the existence of someone even crueller than he.

  Having taken Bram, Simon sought out the priest who had betrayed him in Montreal. When the poor unfortunate was dragged kicking and screaming from the church where he had taken sanctuary, Simon ordered him to be dragged through the town tied to the end of a horse’s tail and then hanged. With this act of cruelty, there could be no doubting Simon’s extreme intentions. He had set out to rid the world of a deadly disease and he would use any method to accomplish this feat.

  In her solarium the afternoon of her return to Occitania and to the arms of her husband, Alicia wasted little time in telling him what had transpired while she had stayed with Marie de Joinville in Champagne. As Simon had predicted, Geoffrey had been absent. Their new baby son, along with all her duties on their estates, had kept Marie sequestered at home, so when Alicia arrived, Marie had been delighted to welcome her. She had been pleased to see her and to hear the news from Occitania, and she listened with great interest as Alicia recounted the news about Simon’s campaign. Although they spent several pleasant afternoons together, Alicia had been able to glean only sparse information about the shroud. She had not wished to press Marie too strongly lest her friend suspect there was an ulterior motive for the visit.

  “What did you learn, then?” Simon’s impatience was growing. Without his realising it, the shroud was beginning to assume enormous proportions in his mind.

  Marie outlined his face with her fingertips as she replied, “You look weary, my lord. Come share a goblet of wine with me and I’ll explain.”

  Impatiently, Simon called for the wine.

  “There is not much more to tell you,” Alicia continued once they were alone again. “It is true that Geoffrey’s uncle was here with another Templar Knight at the time we spoke of. It is also true that he was in Constantinople immediately prior to that time. What we didn’t know before was his whereabouts here in Occitania, and I have found that out for you,” she declared triumphantly.

  “Good God, woman. Get on with it!” Simon was tempted to shake her so impatient was he for the news. “Where did they go, these Templar knights?”

  “To Montsegur, my lord.”

  “Montsegur! But why go there? It is only an abandoned fortress, and so remote even the Romans gave up on it!”

  “Perhaps that’s why, my lord—the very reason, in fact. Who would expect to find something as valuable as the shroud of Our Lord in an abandoned fortress?”

  Simon pulled hard at his beard as he paced the floor. “I have certainly heard that part of the fortress is being rebuilt. The stories have it that it is something of a refuge for the heretics. I had thought to deal with it in time, for what damage could they do so far away, almost cloistered on that mountain?”

  “If the story of the shroud has any merit at all, surely it could become a dangerous rallying point.”

  “As usual, you are right, my dear. It bears closer investigation, but I cannot afford to deploy many men. Perhaps Brother Dominic could send some of his friars to investigate. I will go myself at once to speak to him.”

  “Wait! I have a better idea. Why not send Amaury and Guy? No one would suspect them, especially Guy, who could pass for a local. He speaks the language like a native and even Amaury has some command of it. Besides, the country would not be completely unfamiliar to Guy. Remember, he has spent half his life here and knows the ways of the people. What better work could they do for Holy Mother Church? To restore our Lord’s shroud to the Holy Father would be akin to a miracle!”

  Alicia’s eyes gleamed with sudden passion. Guy’s unwillingness to fight had become something of a worry to her. All the time she had been away with him and the other children in the north, she had come to know her second son and discovered he was not of the same temperament as his father or his older brother. This would be an ideal opportunity to remove him from the centre of the fighting taking place around them at that moment.

  Simon considered the matter for a few moments. “A good idea, my darling, but I cannot spare Amaury at the moment. It is imperative we take back those towns we have lost as speedily as possible. The Cathars and the faidits we chased from Castres and Lombers have taken refuge in Minerve and Termes. They must be squashed as we would squash fleas on a dog. They are only vermin, after all. It doesn’t do to forget that! The whole area is still alive with heretics. We must break their resistance quickly if we are to succeed. Besides, Amaury is fast becoming one of my most valuable leaders. The men rally to him with a will. I really cannot do without him.”

  Seeing that Simon was working himself up to another tirade, Alicia hastened to calm him. “I understand what you say, my lord. I have another idea. Let us send Guy alone. He is nearing fifteen, and with a small group of retainers he would be safe enough. He will be far away from the fighting. The only resistance he will likely meet will be from the heretics themselves, and they’ll be no problem!”

  “I had not expected to hear you even consider sending Guy away, no matter what the cause. I must say it pleases me that you wish to do this. Are you certain you can bear his departure so soon?”

  “I must bear it if it helps our cause. Besides, I have other news for you. I am with child again and will be brought to bed before Michaelmas so you see I shall have other things on my mind. Time is of the essence and now would be as good a time as any to send him!”

  Simon’s face lit up. Already the proud father of five children, he was always ready to welcome another into his family. While his enemies might and did see him as a monster, his family knew him to be a loving and caring father.

  Guy was sworn to secrecy the following day when his parents told him of their plan. To say he was delighted would be an understatement. Although he was conscious of the great honour and trust his father was bestowing upon him, he was also conscious of the fact that the glorious Petronille lived in the general direction in which he would be travelling for the second part of his journey.

  His hopes were soon dashed, however, as his father explained the plan in greater detail. Firstly, he would be in a form of disguise, dressed as an ordinary labourer. There would be no armour, no indication that he was a de Montfort. Simon impressed upon him that revealing his identify in an area so frequented by the heretics would be tantamount to signing his own death warrant. He would travel alone, a dangerous affair with all the marauding routiers that were about on the hi
ghways. For the first part of his journey, Simon could offer him an escort of two men at arms, but once past Puivert he would be on his own.

  Guy was wretched. His hopes of seeing Petronille were firmly dashed—not by anything his father had said, but by his own recognition that it was no game he was about to play.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Occitania, South of France

  Spring - Summer 1210 AD

  Pons and Alain de Toulouse

  Driven by the gnawing feeling in his empty stomach, Pons awoke early the morning after his arrival in Fanjeaux—but not as early as the three perfecti who were still seated at the table where they had been the night before.

  “Come, my son.” Bertrand Arsen said kindly. “You must be hungry, a young man like you. I confess we older ones sometimes forget the need to nourish our bodies. There is bread here on the table, and wine, if you wish.”

  Pons could hardly contain his eagerness as he tore off a chunk of the crusty bread. He had not eaten in twelve hours and ate voraciously.

  “We have a problem here,” Arnaud said, looking at the youth. “We have a burden which we must lay upon you. It is a secret that we must divulge—one which we had no intention of ever doing, but the times are such that we must call upon even the youngest among us. You have already shown us your merit and that you are able to live by your wits; your arrival here without incident proves that. If it were possible, one of us would carry out the task we are going to demand of you, but you know as we do that all of us are marked men—if not now, in the very near future.”

  Hearing the serious note in Arnaud’s voice, Pons stopped chewing. “What is it you wish? You know I will always do my utmost to help our people.”

  While Arnaud had been talking, Bertrand and the third perfectus had been unpacking the piece of linen, said to be the shroud of our Lord, from its silk cover. Pons was perplexed. The linen was a fairly nondescript piece of material with what seemed to be a picture of a man’s head painted on it. He had no idea what it represented.