by Bell, Gradyn
Maurina had heard enough talk to know that the soldiers were being duped. This fight was more political than religious, and many things that were being conducted in the Holy Father’s name were done so without his knowledge. The girl was sure in her own heart that no true Christian would ever condone the savagery, the mutilations and the flaying that were being carried out in the name of Holy Mother Church. The stories of the burnings filled her with horror. She knew they weren’t exaggerated; there were just too many stories of vile acts to consider them rumours.
When she strained her eyes, Maurina could see that one of the liveries stood out more than any other. Shining on its vermilion background, a proud silver lion seemed to leap out at her, gleaming as it did on the surcoats of the soldiers who were working so diligently to destroy the walls. That stylised lion was the symbol of all that was hateful about the times in which she lived—de Montfort’s coat of arms, which, by now, in his second year of campaign, was well known throughout the country. There were few parts that his unstoppable armies had missed as they swept like a whirlwind through the beleaguered countryside.
It was strange, she thought to herself, how quickly one could get used to the constant noise of the pounding against the walls. Where she lived it had not been so loud, but here in the centre of the action, the thumping reverberated in her head. She wished she had done as her sister Braida had said, which was to stay indoors and wait for events. Perhaps she should have followed her sister’s advice, but it was not in her nature to wait for things to happen.
Maurina was not too young to understand the particular horrors that awaited the women, should the walls give way. Their deaths would be preceded by merciless beatings and rapings until their bodies were broken in an attempt to break their spirits and cause them to recant their beliefs. That they never recanted was a source of annoyance for the soldiers, but the burnings that inevitably followed gave them some measure of enjoyment as they celebrated the capture of each new town. The party atmosphere that always prevailed was made livelier by the consumption of copious amounts of wine stolen from the merchants’ cellars in the despoiled towns. Indeed, the only thing that ruined an otherwise excellent party was that the heretics seemed unafraid to die—some even went to their deaths singing.
Maurina shivered as these thoughts ran through her head. Would she be so brave when her time came? She had no doubt that the time would come soon. She had heard it was only the perfecti and the perfectae who were taken to the stake to be burned, but this was little comfort, for she had also heard that the Devil wasn’t particular about whom his men killed by other methods.
Being a child of the town, Maurina knew all the nooks and crannies where someone small could hide. For as long as she could remember, she had played around these ramparts close to the walls of the chateau. She knew the river flowed swiftly below the chateau walls—she had been warned enough times to never go near the river banks. The winding, narrow streets of the town that could confuse a stranger were as familiar to her as her own backyard. As she crouched against the wall with her heart pounding loudly against her chest, she knew it was time to get back to the cottage and the protection of her family.
Straightening up, Maurina saw some of the local townspeople hurrying towards her, carrying what they could of their meagre possessions. They were running along the street towards the cathedral where she knew they would try to seek sanctuary from the invaders. A cart, piled high with palliasses stuffed with straw, pots, pans and other utensils, careened crazily past the place where she was concealed, its owners, even in their panic, unwilling to lose what it had taken them a lifetime to gather. It was a world gone mad, a world of noise and smoke, screams and panic. Maurina, who had set out so boldly that morning, now deeply regretted her own stupidity, for she realised that panic was catching and her parents would be frantic with worry.
To her horror, she could see that some of the more agile soldiers had managed to make their way up from the river and had gained a foothold on the town wall. These men were firing arrows into the bodies of the townsfolk unlucky enough to be within reach of their weapons. She could hear the screams of the people—some of whom she had known all her life—as they died in agony.
Now only eighty knights were attempting to hold back an army that numbered several thousand. These eighty men were sick with exhaustion; they had been fighting for over a month. Their leader, Aimery de Montreal, had sworn to fight to the death, but one by one, his men and the townspeople who had initially fought side-by-side with him, had drifted away. Although they had been well-armed and had fought valiantly, they recognised defeat was staring them in the face. They had their own families to protect. Who could blame them?
The air was filled with thick, black smoke from the trebuchet, the huge war machine that hurled cauldrons of flaming oil over the walls. Her face grimy from the filth, Maurina could see the particles of burning oil wafting across the area in front of the chateau. Although the river ran beneath it, there was a shortage of water in the town, as early on in the campaign de Montfort had seen fit to divert the water flowing into the town’s cisterns.
Maurina’s long blond hair was bedraggled and unkempt, and her fair skin grubby from her encounter with the town’s midden heap over which she had scrambled earlier that morning. Struggling as she clambered over the piles of garbage and human waste, she had stained and torn her dress irrevocably. The smell of the debris from a month of siege still clung about her, making her feel truly sick. She wished she had never attempted the climb at all but had pressed on nonetheless, heedless of the diseased animals the soldiers had hurled over the tops of the walls in an attempt to sicken the population into submission.
The townspeople had piled all the debris together—all the diseased animals, their dead dogs and cats, and indeed all the rats that had starved to death in the last few weeks—to create this common grave that Maurina had climbed over to get a better view of what was happening. Her sister Braida had warned her that it was madness to leave their cottage, and now she knew that Braida had been right. She was in a very dangerous position, for she would now have to expose herself to the archers on the wall—for a few seconds, at least—so that she could reach the small back lanes that would take her home to relative safety. As well as fearing the archers, she had begun to consider what Saissa and Pierre would say to her. Braida would have certainly told them by now where their errant daughter had gone.
Even though she was expecting it, the huge crash took her by surprise. The ramparts, on which much of the town’s defences had depended, finally gave way under the immense punishment they had received. The clouds of dust that rose from the tumbled lumps of masonry blinded her for a few moments. All thought of flight was wiped from her mind and she froze on the spot where she was crouching. The ground trembled under her feet as the walls fell in large sheets, tumbling like a pack of cards. She knew she should run, but could only stare transfixed as the Devil’s army, shouting and cheering, poured through an ever-widening breach in the walls like an enormous ocean wave.
They were everywhere, the soldiers. And so many of them! She had never seen such an army. Surely they could hear the pounding of her heart as they sped by her hiding place. As the dust settled, she could clearly see them clattering past her, their eyes fixed on the rich pickings the town centre would offer. As well as being a centre of heresy, Lavaur was a rich little town, a prize indeed, and de Montfort would systematically relieve the rightful owners of their wines, expensive silks and other valuables and send them to his bankers in Cahors to finance his next battles. Many a house would be put to the torch that day, but not before everything of value had first been spirited away. To the ordinary soldier, these were the just rewards of a job well done. Their leaders may have had finer motives, but the rank and file soldier knew why he was here. He had no interest in converting heretics to the true faith.
The best the townspeople could hope for now would be a quick and merciful death. Maurina had heard that de Montfort ha
d forbidden wholesale rape, but a victorious army was difficult to restrain. He had almost given up the attempt to control his men at the point of victory, saying he would leave it to their consciences to do what was right.
Knowing this and not believing much in the restraining value of men’s consciences, Maurina looked around her to see how she could escape. To her horror, before she could make a move, she saw three soldiers staring at her from the end of the lane where she had thought to make her escape. They wore the same livery of vermilion and silver she had seen on the other men who had just breeched the defences of the small town. With a sinking heart, she knew they were the Devil’s men!
“What have we here?” The tallest and indeed ugliest of the soldiers caught hold of Maurina’s arm and dragged the girl from where she had lain concealed. “Pretty enough, but a bit scrawny. Pooh! She does stink.” He wrinkled his nose. “What’s this she’s got on?” He pulled hard at the grimy ribbon that held Maurina’s dove safely round her neck and grasped the small carving in his hand.
“Don’t you dare touch that!” Maurina’s voice was vehement as she dug her teeth into his hairy wrist.
He swore as he let her go, nursing his injured arm. “You little whore! I’ll teach you a lesson.” He tried to grab the wriggling girl again.
“Come on, she’s only a kid,” one of the other soldiers said. “There’s bound to be better pickings in the town.”
Maurina looked up fearfully as the second soldier spoke. She understood not a word of what they were saying, but their intentions seemed clear enough!
“Funny-coloured hair.” The third soldier spoke for the first time as he grabbed her by her bedraggled blond curls. He sniggered. “She’s too pale for me.” He licked his lips as he spoke. Maurina watched his tongue in fascination. It looked just like a snake she had once seen in her foster father’s field. “She’ll do for me. She’s the first I’ve had for weeks. Besides, I owe her one for this.” The soldier rubbed his bleeding wrist and grabbed her again, this time by the hair and well out of the reach of her teeth. His hands were rough with huge calluses. He pulled her towards him. “No meat on her at all. Still, I’ve plenty for both of us, hey. Take a look at that. Ever seen anything like that before?” Maurina knew well enough what he meant. As he threw her to the ground, she began to recite a prayer. She closed her eyes to block out the image of her aggressor’s face, but she couldn’t block out the stench of his foul breath.
The other two men laughed.
“I think she’s praying,” one of them said mockingly, “just like we do!” He looked down at the girl on the ground. “Praying isn’t going to help you at all, lass. I’ve seen my friend in action before. He always gets what he wants. And if it’s not offered freely, he takes it.”
“Be quiet!” The first soldier was growing red in the face in an effort to subdue the girl, who had begun to fight back.
So intent were they on what they were about, the three men did not hear the shout from the end of the alley, ordering them to stop what they were doing. It wasn’t until the order was repeated that they looked up.
The youth who had spoken to them was clearly someone of note. The horse he sat astride would have cost the common soldier ten years’ pay, and it was caparisoned in the same livery as the men themselves wore. Whereas they were besmirched with dirt, the boy’s livery fairly glowed in the shaft of sunlight that struck him as he leaped from the animal and walked towards them. His face was scarlet with temper as strode towards the hapless soldiers.
“What do you think you are doing?” As he spoke, he aimed a hefty kick at the soldier who was trying to clamber to his feet and pull up his leggings at the same time. “You know my father has expressly forbidden this. She is only a child. Can’t you see that?” His voice rose in anger.
“Just our luck to be caught by him,” muttered one of the three under his breath.
The young man whirled on him. “You’ll see how lucky you are!” He had overheard the remark and his anger rose even further. He motioned to his men at arms, who by now had joined the group. “Take these animals to their sergeant at arms. He will deal with them as my father has prescribed. Tell him from me not to go lightly on the flogging!”
The three miscreants were led away, cursing loudly and bemoaning their ill luck at having been caught just as they were about to enjoy some of the fruits of conquest.
While this had been happening, Maurina had lain huddled on the ground, not daring to look up. She had understood nothing of the conversation because all the men were from the north and had spoken a language very different from her own. Stripping off his riding gauntlets, the young man bent over to help her up. Maurina recoiled, expecting the worst.
“You have no need to fear me.” The voice was soft. He spoke her language with an accent she thought she recognised. “Those men will be punished. They have disobeyed my father’s orders and for that they will be severely flogged.”
Maurina looked more closely at her rescuer. This was the youth she had last seen on the mountainside near Montsegur—certainly dressed more ostentatiously now, but undoubtedly the same person! She tried to stand, but her legs still felt shaky. Now that the threat was gone, she realised what peril she had been in. Her dress was in tatters and the shift beneath it torn, exposing her immature breasts. Her neck was reddened and bruises were appearing where the ribbon securing the carved dove had scored her skin. It was this dove that caught the boy’s eye.
“I know you! We met near Montsegur, don’t you remember? You were going to your uncle’s house to get away from the fighting. Now it seems you are right in the middle of it.” The boy’s voice held a questioning note, which Maurina chose to ignore. “Your brother was called Pons. Is he here, too?” The youth looked around him. “What are you doing here, anyway? This is about as dangerous a place as you could be in at the moment.” He smiled. “I seem to make a habit of picking you up off the ground, don’t I?”
Maurina looked at him shyly. He was certainly no ordinary labourer, as he had led them to believe that morning on the mountain. He was clearly a person of quality and undoubtedly an enemy. Pons and Arnaud had been right to suspect him while she was defending him. She had a lot to learn!
Becoming more aware of her bedraggled appearance, Maurina attempted to cover her nakedness with her torn shift. Immediately noticing her embarrassment, the youth walked over to his saddlebag and pulled out a square of fine silk embroidered with the same vivid emblem that her attackers had worn.
“Here, tuck this into your bodice,” he said gently. “It will serve as protection for you until you get home. No one will dare approach you wearing that.”
She did as she was told, marvelling at the fineness of the material and the brightness of the silver beast appliquéd onto it. “Who are you?” Her courage was returning as the strength crept back into her legs. “You speak our language so well, but you are clearly not one of us.”
The young man gazed at her, realising he did not want to make an enemy of this courageous girl. What should he tell her? Since failing to find any information about the Holy Shroud, he had spent the last few months on campaign with his father and had grown to respect the steadfastness with which the perfecti held to their faith. Though the Cathar elders were held in great esteem and had enormous authority among their followers, not one of them had ever raised a hand against their aggressors. While the enemy soldiers took this for weakness, the self control these believers demonstrated appealed greatly to the youth whose nurturing in a southern household had given him different values from those held by his own family.
“Please, go home now. You and your family will be safe there. Tell Pons to stay indoors, whatever provocation he sees outside. And should it be necessary, show the banner I have given you. We will not be in the town long. My father will garrison it, and as long as the townsfolk give up the heretics he demands, there will be no more killing.”
He walked toward his horse and waved. She stood looking as the sound of his hor
se’s hoofs died away. It was then that Maurina realised with a start that her saviour had been none other than Guy de Montfort, son of the man they called the Devil!
Chapter Twenty Three
Occitania, South of France
May 1211 AD
Lavaur Departure
Maurina’s arrival at home was greeted with sighs of relief from her family. After being unceremoniously yanked indoors, she stood shamefaced as Saissa alternately hugged and scolded her. Pierre said little, preferring to leave the punishment to his wife. Pons was furious, having had visions of his sister’s broken body lying somewhere in the town centre.
Although Maurina did not elaborate overmuch on what had taken place, Pons’ imaginings were not far from what might have happened had it not been for the fortuitous arrival of Guy. Once she had been cleaned up (she stank like the midden, her mother had said!), she sat down to tell the family what had happened. Their first questions concerned the silk banner she wore to cover her nakedness. Why was she wearing it? Where had it come from? Who had given it to her? How had she torn her bodice?
The questions came thick and fast, and she did her best to answer them quickly, aware as she was of the disaster that was taking place just a few streets away in the centre of the town. The family had guessed that the walls had been breached because the interminable pounding had finally ceased, but up until then few soldiers had penetrated as far into the town as their cottage. They could not hear the screams of the population from where they lived and so had no idea of the carnage that was being meted out.
“Why are you wearing something with de Montfort’s colours on it?” Pons took hold of Maurina and almost shook her. “What have you been up to? Where were you?”
Upset as she was by all her experiences of the morning, Maurina pushed his arm away and burst into tears. Pons was immediately contrite. This was unlike the Maurina he knew!
