by Bell, Gradyn
“I was near the wall when they broke through, and three soldiers set upon me.” She did not disclose how she had nearly been raped. “A young soldier riding past where I was hiding called the men off and gave me this banner to cover myself. He said no one would dare attack me again as long as I had it. Pons, do you remember when we were going to Montsegur? You and Arnaud both thought there was something odd about the boy travelling to Montsegur at that time of year. Well, you were right. He wasn’t what he seemed—”
She was interrupted by her brother, who grabbed her arm again impatiently. “Get on with it, girl! Who was it?”
Before replying, she rubbed her neck, which was now more painful than ever. “It was Guy de Montfort!” The gasps of the family were audible as this news dropped like a bombshell. “He recognised the dove and remembered it from when he had rescued me on the mountain after I fell on the ice. He gave me a message for you, Pons. He said on no account should you leave the house, no matter what you hear or think is happening. We will all be safe here as long as we have this.” She gestured towards the banner, now spread across the table.
“What else did he say?” Pierre’s manner was milder than his son’s, but the question was none the less urgent.
“He said as long as all the perfecti were given up to his father’s authority, none of the rest of us would suffer. What did he mean by that, Papa?”
“Where are you going?” Saissa’s voice held a note of alarm.
As Maurina had been answering his question, Pierre had caught up his leather jerkin and was on his way out the door. “I must warn everyone to get away while they can. Close the shutters and bar the door. If anyone attempts to break in, tell them you are under the protection of de Montfort!” He was gone without saying more, leaving the others who were wondering if they would ever see him again.
“I should go, too,” Pons said decisively. “He’ll need some help.”
His mother feared that whatever she said would have little effect on his decision to thrust himself once more into danger. “Don’t go, son,” she nonetheless pleaded with him. “What if your father doesn’t return?” She started to weep, which was the signal for Braida to break down and sob, too.
“I’ll go with you, Pons,” said Maurina, her spirits quite restored at the thought of another adventure.
Horrified at the thought, Saissa pulled Maurina towards her. “Of course you can’t go,” she said through her tears.
“Wait a minute, Maman,” Pons said. “That is not a bad idea. We can take the pennant with us. De Montfort said it would protect us. There is something ironic in the thought of his emblem saving Cathar lives.”
Saissa was sad to see what war had already done to her son. All softness was gone and in its place was a man hardened by things he had seen, who was prepared to fight for what he thought was right.
“Remember your promise to me and your father before you went to Toulouse?” she said to him.
“Times are different, Maman. You know I will never seek to hurt anyone. You and Papa and the elders have taught me well, but if I am set upon I will defend myself.”
Saissa broke into fresh tears, unsure if she was sad at Pons’ flat statement, which contradicted the teachings of their church, or happy that he would try to protect himself.
During their conversation, Maurina had changed into more suitable clothes and she now appeared at the doorway, ready to go. “We must try to contact Arnaud first of all,” she said firmly. “Come on, Pons, let’s go.” Kissing her still protesting mother, she dragged her brother out of the door.
“Here, don’t forget this!” Braida came to the door flourishing the hated emblem on which their lives might well depend.
Maurina took it from her and put it around her shoulders like a shawl, and the two set off on their perilous journey to save as many perfecti as they could.
Alas, it would be a wasted effort. Already the eighty soldiers who had fought so valiantly to save Lavaur had died ignoble deaths. They had first been strung up on gibbets, but the hastily constructed instruments of death had collapsed under their terrible burdens. The soldiers, many of them still alive, had their throats unceremoniously slit as they lay in a tangled heap under piles of broken wood. The area in front of the chateau had taken on a surreal atmosphere, one that could only exist only in the worst of nightmares. With deadly efficiency, the Devil’s soldiers had driven stakes into the ground to form a huge square, inside which they piled faggots of wood and brush ready to be lit.
By the time Pons and Maurina arrived at the chateau, a huge crowd had already gathered. These people, who had already collectively sworn their allegiance to Holy Mother Church and would suffer no further punishment, had remained to witness the fate of those who had gladly given themselves up to the Crusaders. These men and women—about four hundred of them— said they would never renounce their beliefs as Cathars and were ready to die for those beliefs. One could only wonder at the strength of a faith that would allow them to welcome such a painful death.
The expectant crowd stood in front of the chateau, which had fallen so easily into the hands of the soldiers. Due only to the grace of one of the crusader knights, the serving women of Girauda—the chatelaine—had been allowed to escape with their lives. However, their mistress was not so lucky. It was said she had been turned over to the common soldiery for their sport. No one knew if this was the truth or not, but the rumours abounded. Girauda was famous far and wide for her charity. It was chiefly because of her that de Montfort had made his largest haul of heretics so far in his campaign in Lavaur. As Simon’s army advanced, the heretics had fled to what they thought was safety in a Cathar stronghold where they now found themselves trapped.
At the back of the crowd, Maurina grasped Pons’ arm as if her life depended on it.
“What are they going to do?”
Her question was soon answered as soldiers moved in and out of the woodpiles with burning torches. Soon the heaps of tinder-dry wood roared into enormous flames and a column of singing men and women was hurried towards the inferno. Goading them from behind with burning brands of wood came some of de Montfort’s men. The column of heretics needed no encouragement. Sure in their faith, they were confident they were going to a better place.
Pons and Maurina stood watching in silent horror and fascination until the youth felt Maurina loosen her grip on his arm.
“We know most of these people.” Maurina began to sob, wiping her eyes on a corner of the shawl. “They are our friends. We can’t let them die like this.”
“There is little we can do to help.” Pons stared stoically, careful not to reveal the hate searing his heart for the terrible waste of life and the cruelty that was taking place in front of his eyes, all in the name of Holy Mother Church. Hearing Maurina draw in her breath, he caught her by the shoulders, cautioning her to remain silent.
“There’s Arnaud. They have captured him!”
Pons might as well have tried to turn back an ocean wave as to stop Maurina. She wriggled out of his grasp and ran towards the middle of the column where her real father waited patiently for his turn to mount one of the burning pyres. As she ran, people noticed the shawl she was wearing and began muttering its displeasure at the sight of the hated insignia. A soldier ran forward and grabbed her.
“Want to join your friends, little one? That can be arranged.” He caught the wiggling Maurina round the waist and carried her towards the nearest fire.
“Let me go, you brute. Don’t you see this banner? What do you think it means?”
“It means nothing to me! Where did you pick it up? Off one of the bodies of our men, I don’t doubt!”
Maurina answered him with a well-placed kick that sent him to his knees clutching his groin. Swearing loudly, the soldier staggered to his feet and caught hold of her again. His face was contorted with anger as he grasped handfuls of her hair. “Come on, you little bitch. You’ve done your last bit of whoring.”
“I am not a whore, nor am I
a murderer like you.” Maurina was sobbing. “You kill people like you kill flies. What have any of these people done to hurt you?”
He answered her by throwing her into the column of perfecti, most of whom were singing and praying. She looked around her, hardly able to believe what was happening. She saw Arnaud beckoning her.
“Arnaud, you must make a run for it. You cannot let them end your life like this.”
“Maurina, my child. I may call you that, for you really are my child. These people are not ending my life; they are starting it for me. You must not feel sorrow for us, only jubilation. Please go from here while you can.”
He pushed her away and moved closer to the fires. Already the sparks from the flames were beginning to ignite his clothes. He turned to her once more and waved. “Remember me. You will come to a good end, I know.”
He could only mouth the words to her. The crackling flames blotted out what he was saying. He was soon obscured by the thick smoke that swirled around the pyres. Mercifully, Maurina was unable to see his departure from this life.
Blinded by tears, she fought her way through the crowds of onlookers to where she thought she had left Pons. But he was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the mass of humanity craning their necks to get a better view of the holocaust that was taking place in front of their eyes.
“If you’re looking for that fellow who was with you, he was taken by some soldiers,” one bystander said, intending to be helpful.
“Which soldiers? Where?” Maurina’s voice held more than a note of panic.
“I don’t know where they went, but they were wearing the same emblem as you.”
“Why are you wearing that banner?” another bystander piped up. “It’s the emblem of the Devil. It’s not very popular around here at the moment!” The sarcasm was palpable.
Maurina felt a first frisson of fright as she realised that the crowd, many of whom she had known all her life, was growing less friendly. They were beginning to make catcalls and jeer at her. She could not believe her ears. How could a crowd be so fickle? Most of them knew her, had known her since she was a baby!
“You should take that off, my dear.” The kindly voice came from an old woman who stood leaning against the gnarled trunk of a plane tree. ‘It’s making the crowd angry.”
“Why should I? It was supposed to save my life.” Maurina turned away, still searching for Pons.
“I’ll tell you why!” The man who spoke twisted her arm and attempted to pull the shawl from her body. “It’s got the mark of the devil on it, that’s why!” He gave it a vicious yank and the banner came away in his hands. He flung it down as if it were contaminated.
“I suggest you are careful what you do with that.” A new voice had joined the crowd around Maurina. “Those are my father’s colours, and if you do not wish to join your friends,” he said, pointed towards the pyres, “you will respect them!”
The crowd fell back and became silent. Only the crackling of the fires could be heard above the singing of the martyrs who had not yet succumbed to the flames.
“It seems you are to rescue me again,” Maurina said, gazing up at Guy.
“Yes, it is becoming a habit of mine.” He smiled at her. “But come away from here. It is not safe and the crowd will turn on you when I go. They think you are a traitor because you wear our colours.”
Maurina looked horrified. Never in a million years would she turn traitor to her family and her beliefs. She turned to follow the youth, who led her through a small door into the chateau, which although it had been ransacked by de Montfort’s men, was still grand enough to impress the girl.
“You must stay here under my protection until my father and his army have gone. They will not be here long. My father has other grand plans and will leave only a few men to garrison the place. After that, I will escort you to somewhere safe. You will not be able to return to your family, not for a while, at least. It seems our destinies are to be linked, regardless of our backgrounds.”
“Where is my brother? Someone said he had been taken by soldiers.”
Guy looked sombre. “Yes, he was taken by some of our men. I fear they had some sport with him before I could stop them.”
She clutched his arm. “What do you mean by ‘sport’? Is he injured? What have you done to him?” She looked at him with fear in her eyes.
“He’s injured but not severely. He’ll live. He’s in the dungeon where he is not likely to be found. I’ve sent a physician to care for him. Never fear, he will recover, but he, too, will have to leave when the time comes lest I be accused of harbouring the enemy.”
“We are not the enemy, sir. You are!” She spoke far more boldly than she felt.
The youth smiled at her. He could not but admire her spirit. “Nevertheless, we must be careful. Neither my father nor my brother would be happy to know that you and Pons are under their very noses. Now, you must be dressed more fittingly lest someone guesses you are not one of us. I will have something brought for you to wear. After that, you may see Pons. Both of you must keep out of sight as much as possible. There are spies everywhere, even in the commander’s camp.” He turned to go.
“Wait!” There was urgency in the girl’s voice. “You must make sure my mother and father know we are safe.” Her face clouded over when she thought of the fate of Arnaud, her real father, but even though she had found some comfort in his last words to her, her eyes filled with tears. This was a true test of her beliefs!
“I will send a messenger. There are few I trust about here, but one or two are my men and they will make sure your parents know.” He took her hands in his and spoke with a firmness that surprised her. “My brother Amaury, who is my father’s right-hand man, is of the opinion that the only good believer is a dead one, so on no account must you betray yourself or Pons. Keep to yourself, and in a few days we will be away from here. Now, I must join my family in council. At least I will know where the army will strike next, and that information may be of use to you and your friends.”
“You would betray your father to help us?” Her voice held a note of incredulity.
“I think I do not see the larger picture as do the rest of my family,” Guy admitted sadly. “I am not greedy for land or titles. I am certain my father thinks he is doing the Lord’s work, but I am equally sure that The Holy Father would not wish us to kill innocents as we have been doing. I have lived in this part of the country for more than half of my life and cannot bear to see my father and my brother kill the friends I have made and whom I have grown to love as much as I love my own family. So, yes, if you call it a betrayal to save lives, then I am a traitor.”
He looked into her eyes and saw himself reflected there. Bending to kiss her brow, he left her.
The next week passed slowly for Maurina but the time allowed Pons’ injuries to heal sufficiently for them to leave. She had plenty of time to think about Guy and to wonder what his kiss meant to her. He had managed to visit them on several occasions without arousing suspicion; most of his household thought he had found himself a doxy and was keeping quiet about her. There were many winks, nudges and jokes about red-blooded young men, and Guy did nothing to disabuse them of their assumptions.
On the morning of their departure, dawn broke with a brilliance that coloured everything a pink hue. Were it not for the sadness of a town in ruins, Maurina would have been sorry to leave. As it was, the pyres still smouldered as if reluctant to die and end the matter. Maurina was forced to close her eyes to the hideous remnants of a once thriving community.
As they left the defeated town, the only home that Pons and Maurina had ever known, they passed the well where it was rumoured the Lady Girauda had been entombed alive. Legions of flies buzzed around the top of the well, and the smell of rotting flesh added substance to what Maurina had heard. She could not believe that de Montfort’s men, cruel as she knew them to be, would have dealt thus with a woman so renowned for her goodness and charity. When she challenged Guy for the truth, he was evasive,
leading her to believe there was some veracity in the rumour. Maurina could only wonder anew at man’s inhumanity to man, and under the guise of doing God’s work!
It was agreed that Pons and Maurina would head for the mountains in the south, well away from the fighting. Guy would go only a short distance with them and then head west in the direction of Toulouse to join his father. Although it had not been stated in so many words, Pons and Maurina would go to Puylaurens and from there to Montsegur. The small fortress would be a place of safety for them now, as it promised to be in the future.
The leave-taking of the three, when it came, held a note of sadness. It seemed they were bound by accidents of birth never to be friends, but in the short time she had known him, Maurina had come to like and admire the young nobleman. As they drew close to the crossroad where they would separate, Guy beckoned his groom, who had been leading his palfrey and following them at a respectful distance. Leaning over to the girl, he traced the outline of her face with his fingertips.
“Go with God, little Cathar dove, whoever your God may be. One day, when all this is finished, I will come to find you again.” As he rode off, Maurina gazed after the horse and its rider until they were out of sight. Her eyes were wet and promising herself that one day they would meet again, she turned resolutely to join Pons.
Book Two
The de Montfort Histories:
The Dove in Flight
Chapter One
Occitania, 1211-1212 AD
Pons and Maurina
I can’t go any further, Pons.” Maurina looked down at her bruised and bleeding feet. “Can’t we stop somewhere?” She looked beseechingly at her foster brother. She was nearly in tears and her feet were a bloody mess.
“It’s just a little way further on, just over the top of that hill. We’ll be there in two hours and be able to rest there. A good night’s sleep will help.” Pons’ gentle tone of voice in his endeavour to sound sympathetic provoked Maurina’s anger for some reason.
