The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil

by Bell, Gradyn

  “I will send men to Montlaur as de Montfort has demanded, and you will go as their leader. I, myself, will go to the Council in Narbonne as the Legates have demanded. It will be interesting to take the measure of this man personally who has so troubled our lives!”

  “If de Montfort is in Narbonne, he will not be in Termes. Even he can’t be in two places at once—although he is convinced the angels are on his side! Perhaps I will have a chance to do some damage to their cause while he is away. I expect that toad, Arnold-Almeric will go with him; he sticks with the Devil. In truth, they deserve each other!”

  “Have a care, my son. They are evil incarnate and you should not be surprised if de Montfort has set people to watch you. They do not trust us, which is why I am once more summoned by the Council. I would not wish any harm to befall you. If things do not go right for me at Narbonne, you will be in their hands. Be always on your guard!”

  “Do not fear for me, Papa. Rather be careful of yourself. They are out to trap you. You of all people have experienced their malice. It will be easy for me to flee into the mountains should it become necessary. They would never catch me there. My mother’s family would protect me and get me across the border into Spain.”

  “Then go, my son, and God go with you.” He hugged the youth in an uncharacteristic display of emotion before abruptly turning away from him. As Alain clattered down the stone steps of the tower, the older man brushed tears from the corners of his eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt the icy hand of fear in his heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Occitania, South of France

  Autumn 1210

  Pons

  The late summer was already turning to autumn by the time Pons arrived back in Fanjeaux. He lost no time in seeking out the house where he had met Bertrand Arsen and Arnaud a few short months ago. Well aware now of the dangers the perfecti found themselves in, he would not have been surprised to find the small dwelling unoccupied. At that moment, Fanjeaux was a dangerous place for anyone who dare question Holy Mother Church.

  Brother Dominic had a large following in the town. His convent, recently founded in Prouille a few short miles away, was beginning to attract Catholics from far and wide. The Pope was in the throes of granting permission for him to found an order of preachers, and many young zealots were already flocking to Fanjeaux to take up his call to hunt down the heretics and try to convert them.

  Pons was relieved, therefore, when the door was opened to his soft knock and Bertrand Arsen stood before him. The perfectus drew him quickly into the room and closed the door firmly, drawing a wooden bar across it. There was a chill in the air, which struck cooler inside the cottage than it did outside, and no fire. Bertrand quickly explained that they feared to light one in case the smoke should lead the soldiers to them.

  “All we can offer you are some vegetables and a small amount of beer. We have nothing else here. For us it does not matter, but I can see you have had a wearisome journey. You must have more sustenance. Brother Arnaud will arrange for you to go to one of our other houses where you can be properly taken care of. For the moment, make do with what we have and tell us your news. Firstly, did you meet with Bernard de Sicre?”

  “Have you not heard the news? Mirepoix was taken by de Montfort, and all the brothers were either arrested or fled. Fortunately, Bernard ensured I would come to no harm and a kindly sister let me rest at her house. I lost no time returning here, for I still carry the burden you gave me. I do not know if Bernard is alive or dead and I did not know where to leave the linen. I expected any minute to be recognised by some of the soldiers there and so returned as quickly as I could.”

  Arnaud spoke for the first time. “You did well, my boy. You have managed to save the linen and evade capture and we are grateful for that! Our problem once more is where to hide it now. De Montfort’s army is everywhere. We have heard from our spies that he is seeking the linen and that he and Arnold-Almeric will greatly reward anyone with information regarding its whereabouts.”

  Pons looked Arnaud in the eye. “Excuse my plain speaking, but isn’t it about time I knew what it was I was protecting. I have carried this material about my person for many weeks without question. In truth, I was afraid to be near anyone when I slept for fear of discovery, and have bathed only in mountain streams in near darkness so no one could see me. What is this cloth?”

  “What you say is true, my boy. You have every right to know what you have been risking your life for and what, God willing, you will be prepared to risk your life for again. Do you agree, Bertrand, that the boy should be told?” Arnaud appealed to the older man for guidance.

  The explanation of the linen’s importance stunned Pons. His reaction was one of incredulity followed by a certain amount of anger at the knowledge of the importance of his mission. He jumped to his feet and opened his mouth, but before he could speak Bertrand interrupted.

  “Do not be angry, my boy. We sought only to protect you and your family. Had any of de Montfort’s spies questioned you, you would not have needed to lie to them. And they would not have had to use your family to make you talk.”

  Slightly mollified by this explanation, Pons sat down again.

  “Clearly the linen must be moved from here. To keep it in Fanjeaux would be like putting a lamb in a lion’s cage. Imagine Dominic’s joy in possessing such an article. Although many believe the face on the linen to be that of Jesus Christ, we know that He never really lived as a man, he only existed in spirit form and therefore the imprint cannot be His. The danger is, of course, that Catholics believe this was the burial shroud of the Christ. There is no denying that many miracles have been attributed to it. The Templar Knights took it from Constantinople for safekeeping and it was claimed that the linen saved that city from destruction several times. If Dominic were to get his hands on it, imagine what atrocities the army could commit in its name and what power de Montfort and the church would have!”

  They all shuddered at the thought of what further carnage could be wrought in the name of God with so powerful a tool.

  “Tell me what you wish me to do,” Pons said. “I will do it gladly, even at the expense of my own life. I see now why you told me I could save many lives. It appears this is still the case; the shroud must be saved, and it seems that I am the one who will do it.”

  “Well spoken, Pons. You are indeed a credit to your family. You know that you will be rewarded, if not in this life, then in the next. Have no fear. God will help you, for He always defends the righteous! In the meantime, we must do what we can here in this life to protect you and your burden. At the moment, the safest place for you is back in Lavaur. We do not expect you to guard the linen for much longer.

  “You will carry it back to Lavaur where you will meet Arnaud, who will leave here and return on the pretext of seeing Maurina. Everyone there knows he is her real father and his visit will arouse no suspicions. He will take charge of the shroud when he arrives, but for safety’s sake you must be the one to get it there. We will make up a large sack of herbs for your mother and bury the cloth in it. No one will question you, carrying herbs. You can use it as a pillow and rest your head on it at night. That way, you can at least seek the shelter of an inn.”

  Pons nodded. His heart was light at the thought of returning home to the comfort of his family. He longed to see his little sisters again. As he fingered the small wooden dove he still wore about his neck, he pictured Maurina’s delight. His stomach began to contract as he thought of his mother’s cooking, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten properly for days. The raw carrots and turnips that Bertrand and Arnaud had set in front of him when he arrived had little appeal. He knew his mother’s first words to him would be that he was mere skin and bones!

  “Come with me, I will take you to some good neighbours who are friends. You will be able to spend the night there and they will give you a decent meal. Set out tomorrow as early as possible so as to avoid the army traffic along the way. You should not meet much; mos
t of the army is at Termes taking part in the siege there. Nevertheless, the Devil has eyes everywhere. He has recaptured most of the chateaux he lost last year and has marauding bands of soldiers in the most unlikely places. Be very careful to whom you speak. Guard your counsel, as I’m sure you know, and trust no one. It will be a lonely trip, but at least you are certain of a welcome at the end of it. I will see you, God willing, in Lavaur before the winter sets in.”

  Arnaud took his arm and led him through a small door into the neighbouring byre. The sound of rushing water met Pons’ ears as he entered the small yard outside. It was pitch black, but he could make out a series of stepping stones that disappeared into the distance in the rushing water.

  “Follow the stones. The water is not deep, only wide. On the other side someone will be waiting for you with a warm meal and a bed.”

  With that, Arnaud disappeared into the blackness of the night.

  The next day, with a full stomach and feeling jauntier than he had for weeks, Pons set out for Lavaur. He could not disguise the happiness he felt although he did his best to keep a grin from his face; it would have been out of place in these sad times. The sack of herbs he was carrying was rather bulky and heavy but he felt hardly any discomfort as he hoisted it over his shoulder. He had not gone many paces before a wagon drew alongside him. The driver hailed him with a cheerful shout. Ever suspicious, Pons drew away from the side of the road, but the man persisted in his efforts to get Pons’ attention.

  “Hey, Pons, don’t you recognise me?”

  Pons looked over in surprise. Who was this man calling him by name so far away from home? His face cleared when he saw that it was one of his friends whom he had last seen in Toulouse. “What are you doing here, and where did you get the cart? The last time I saw you, you were mucking out the Count’s stables!”

  “Ah, well, talent will rise to the top! I am on the Count’s business. He has no men at arms that he can spare, so he sent me first to Prouille with a message for Brother Dominic at the convent there. He’s a weird one if ever there was one. Quite frightening, really. Very intense with scary eyes. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him. As it was, I was only there for about three hours, but I was glad to leave. They weren’t very hospitable, the brothers, and they didn’t even offer to feed me or my horse.

  “Now I’m going to Lavaur to pick up a supply of blue dye for the women of the chateau. There may be a war on, but the women must still dress well!” He grinned. “Where are you going? We all wondered where you’d gone and were told you had decided to return home. What are you doing so far away from Lavaur?”

  Not wanting to lie but also not wanting to tell the truth, Pons thought quickly before he spoke. “I have a bundle of herbs here for my mother. There are remedies she cannot get locally, so I was sent to find them.”

  “Well if you want a lift, jump up. It will be easier on your feet than walking, I can guarantee that!”

  Pons agreed wholeheartedly. Throwing his bundle into the back of the cart and caution to the wind, he jumped in the wagon.

  The trip back to Lavaur was uneventful, much to Pons’ relief. The constant drone of his erstwhile friend’s chatter soon lulled him to sleep. They found lodging at a few inns, but for the most part they depended on monasteries for a bed and their evening meal. More than once Pons wondered what the monks would say if they knew he had in his bundle a relic too holy for most of them even to contemplate. As it was, he insisted on using it for his pillow each night and fell asleep to the pleasant scent of lavender and rosemary. Sleeping like a newborn for the first time in months, he determined to tell his mother of the benefits of a pillow made of herbs.

  The joy in his family’s faces at his safe return was almost more than Pons could bear. Maurina was so exited she could hardly speak, while Braida clung to his hand as though she would never let it go. His father tried to hide his emotion with gruffness, but Saissa cried openly as she thanked God for the safe return of her only son. As Pons had suspected, she was quick to remark about how thin he was. He had not been home for more than an hour before a huge meal was set before him.

  “Maman,” Pons said when he saw what she was expecting him to eat, “you can’t expect me to regain all the weight I have lost with one meal. There is enough here for five men!”

  “Eat and tell us what has been happening to you. We have had some news from the elders, but as you know, there are many more secrets now than there used to be. We knew you would come back soon and that you would have some significant news for us. We have been told that you bring with you something so important that it must be protected whatever the cost.”

  They all looked at him expectantly.

  “The news is for later, Papa.” Pons looked meaningfully at the younger members of the family, who were all watching him with rounded eyes.

  “Ah, well, yes.” Pierre said. “Now, girls, isn’t it time the chickens were fed?”

  “But, Papa,” Maurina wailed, “every time something interesting is discussed, where am I? Out feeding the chickens, that’s where. Will I never be allowed to grow up? I’m nearly twelve, you know. Some of my friends are to be married soon!”

  “If you are talking about Corba, you know that I do not approve of these early marriages. Fourteen is entirely early enough, and even then, many girls aren’t strong enough to help their husbands in the fields. Corba’s father deems it differently, and that is for him to decide. As long as you are in my house, you must obey my rules. Now, as I have already said, please go and feed the chickens!”

  Braida went out cheerfully. She couldn’t have cared less about what Pons had brought back with him; she was just glad he had returned. Maurina, on the other hand, continued to look mutinous. She was tired of being thought of as a mere child so it was not a difficult thing for her to leave the door slightly ajar after they had left the room. In this manner, she managed to hear most of the conversation. She would have heard the whole thing but for Braida, who kept interrupting her, wanting to know why she wasn’t feeding the chickens or collecting the eggs.

  Later on that afternoon, the girl finally managed to get Pons all to herself. As they walked along the banks of the River Agout, Maurina tried to draw him out about what had really happened to him and what it all meant for their family. Seeing she was intent on discovering the minutest details, Pons eventually gave in to her and swore her to secrecy. He recognised in her a maturity far beyond her years and found himself telling her things he would never have told his younger sister Braida.

  “Even Maman and Papa don’t know all that I am telling you,” he explained. “The elders have disclosed as little as possible to me so as to protect us all, but I can tell you that Arnaud will be here sometime soon to collect the parcel I have brought with me. And that will be the end of it, as far as we are concerned.”

  Maurina was pensive. “I haven’t seen my real father for years. In fact, I haven’t really thought about him at all. I’ve even forgotten what he looks like. He made that dove I gave you, so I know he cared about me a long time ago. It was the only thing I had to remind me of him. Do you still have it?”

  “Of course I do! Do you think I would lose it? It reminded me of home when I was far away.” He removed the small carving from around his neck and gave it to her. “Here, I won’t be needing it now. I’m home to stay!”

  Overjoyed at his pronouncement, Maurina flung her arms around her big brother. He had always been her hero; as a small girl she had dogged his footsteps, often to his irritation. Pons swore to himself that he would never be irritated by her again.

  “What’s he like, my real father?”

  “You know he’s a perfectus. He’s a gentle man, as are all the perfecti, wise beyond measure. And brave, too. He would never hurt a living soul. He has brought the consolamentum to many who were dying, just as Bertrand Arsen did when your mother died. Your mother died a happy death because of Bertrand. Surely Maman has told you the circumstances of your birth.”

  “
Yes, of course she has, but I always thought it unfair of my real father to give me up so easily.”

  “Believe me when I say it was not done easily. Your father spent many months in prayer and contemplation before making his decision. At the time, he thought it best to cut the ties that bound the two of you so he would not upset you by his infrequent visits.” He looked stricken as he went on. “You have been happy, haven’t you?”

  “Of course! I love Maman and Papa, just as I love you and Braida and everybody!”

  He smiled at her upturned face. She was still a child, but he could clearly see the adult she would become. She was already quick to understand problems where Braida struggled. She was brave and did not cry easily. She was already beautiful, her blondeness and pale skin an anomaly amidst her darker family. She would be a breaker of many men’s hearts!

  Arnaud’s arrival caused little stir in Lavaur. At his request, as few people as possible had been apprised of his visit. He arrived just before dawn in late November, in time for the twelfth anniversary of his daughter’s birth. Although the pain of his wife’s death all those years ago had passed, from time to time in his busy life Arnaud still remembered the sadness that had possessed him before he had become a perfectus. Since then, he had had precious little time to devote to personal matters.

  This visit to his daughter—the first in several years—brought memories flooding back, for twelve-year-old Maurina was the living image of his dead wife. At first he did not find it easy to talk to her, but her exuberance soon won him over and he found himself laughing and joking with the family. Her unconscious mannerisms so strongly resembled those of his dead wife that he could not stop believing that perhaps she had been reincarnated!

  Arnaud was delighted when he saw that she wore the dove, and thanked Pons once more for the assistance he had given to the cause of the believers. “Are you returning to the service of the Count of Toulouse?” he enquired.