by Bell, Gradyn
“It’s all very well for you in your boots! These clogs I’m wearing have been rubbing blisters on my heels for days. I told you I wanted boots and for that matter I would like to get rid of this shift and skirt, too.” As she spoke she grabbed handfuls of the material which had kept wrapping itself around her legs as they had walked through the mountains. “You have no idea how difficult it is.” A bramble curled itself around her calf and ankle as she spoke, clinging to the material and tearing at her skin. “Look! See what I mean. You try walking like this.” She burst into tears.
Pons looked alarmed. This wasn’t the Maurina he knew. She hardly ever cried. She had walked with him and her father to Montsegur the winter before and had made no complaint. What was wrong with her? “Here, wear these.” He pulled a pair of boots from one of the packs. “These will stop the rubbing for a while but you really need some salve. When Guy was packing for us I don’t suppose he gave any thought to bruised and bleeding feet; he rides everywhere!”
It had only been a few weeks since they had parted company with the young de Montfort following the destruction of Lavaur. His father’s army had brought hell upon the Cathar refuge, and it was only through the kindness and humanity of Guy de Montfort that Maurina and Pons had survived. Under Guy’s escort, Maurina and Pons had been able to leave the town where sister and brother had spent most of their young lives. Maurina had seen Pons beaten within an inch of his life and her natural father burned to death in the company of four hundred other Cathar believers.
“When we get to Fanjeaux we‘ll surely find some sort of shelter. Most of the elders will have left but there’s bound to be some of us left in the town. It wasn’t destroyed I know that. De Montfort still has a garrison there and Brother Dominic still has his convent. I think we’ll have to find some boys’ clothes for you, though. You’re right. It will be easier for you to walk and we’ll attract less attention.” He looked at her ruefully. “Even dirty as you are you are becoming quite attractive.”
She picked up a clod of earth and threw it at him. At thirteen she was nearly a grown woman. Females matured early in this part of the south of France and Maurina was no exception. Her figure was already lissome and blonde hair and fair skin gave evidence of the beauty she was to become. Gingerly she pulled herself to her feet and he could see her wincing at the pain. She bent to pick up the pack she had been carrying but Pons beat her to it and picked it up.
“It’s the least I can do to help you. I would carry you if I could but you are getting pretty large and we wouldn’t get far.” He laughed at her indignation. She wasn’t fat at all but she was almost as tall as he was.
They reached Fanjeaux just before dark. It had taken the two hours that Pons had promised but finding a Cathar household intact was another matter. De Montfort still continued his policy of destroying not only the houses and possessions of anyone deemed a Cathar but also any animals, crops or vines. He had decimated the area known as Occitania in the three long years of his campaign but he had been more restrained in Fanjeaux where he needed whatever crops and stores were available to help feed his garrison there.
The presence of the garrison and the fact that Brother Dominic had founded a monastery nearby made the place a dangerous spot to be in, especially for those of the Cathar faith. The town was full of would-be postulants waiting to join the order of preaching friars for which Dominic was in the process of seeking approval. They were all keen young men who couldn’t wait to begin the process of seeking out the heretics in an effort to convert them.
Although there were not many soldiers about, most of them were away fighting or cooling their heels in the siege of Toulouse, there were enough to worry the two young people. Pons had had occasion to meet many of de Montfort’s men the previous year and he was not anxious to run into any of them again lest they recognise him.
Pons sat Maurina down on a low wall and cautioned her not to move. At first she objected to being left behind but when she withdrew her left foot from its boot, she found she had been walking in a pool of blood.
“Be as quick as you can,” she said. She watched him as he walked away towards the centre of the town, hoping he wouldn’t have to go too far. She closed her eyes. The strain of the past few weeks had begun to catch up with her and to add insult to injury she knew from the trickling of blood between her legs that her monthly courses had begun again. No wonder she was tearful!
“What have we here?” She was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of a male voice. Looking up she saw that it was one of Brother Dominic’s friars. “What have you done to your feet? He bent down to take a closer look and was appalled by what he saw. He was no stranger to pain inflicted on the body; in his younger days he had made use of a scourge on his back to quell his youthful sexual desires. “You must come with me to our monastery. Our sisters will bind your feet for you.”
“I can’t do that. I’m waiting for my brother. He’s gone to get some help for me.” She didn’t want to elaborate in case the monk began to question her further. The last thing she wished anyone in this town to discover was that she and her brother were Cathars.
“I will fetch a cart and you will ride in it with me to Prouille. No, don’t argue with me. The sisters have many unguents and powders that will help your feet to heal. Besides, this town is full of soldiers and a maiden such as you should not be about alone, especially at dusk.” Maurina looked around her, fearfully. She had some experience with de Montfort’s soldiers and coming so close to being raped once before she was genuinely scared. She could only thank God for the timely arrival of Guy that day. She knew or rather guessed she would not be so lucky a second time and she had no wish to repeat the experience.
After some hesitation she finally agreed to wait while the friar fetched a cart. Hoping against hope that Pons would return before the well- meaning young postulant, she shifted her position on the hard bricks. If Pons didn’t get back before the friar, how would she let him know where she was? She did not want the young man to offer to send a messenger to find her brother. The less they at the convent knew about Pons and her, the better!
Unfortunately, it was only a matter of a few minutes before the young friar returned with a cart drawn by a donkey. Evidently Brother Dominic’s name carried great weight in Fanjeaux for the cart had been commandeered from its owner who now stood wringing his hands, complaining about how much business he would lose if they kept the vehicle for long.
Helping Maurina climb into the cart took several moments. The young postulant did his best to assist her but her feet would hardly bear her weight and the best she could manage was a hobble. As she climbed in, she looked around for signs of her brother’s return but the street were deserted. He was nowhere to be seen and with a sigh of resignation she allowed herself to be taken to the monastery. What Pons would think when he found she had disappeared she could not imagine.
The monastery was a few miles outside of Fanjeaux in a village called Prouille. It had been founded to accommodate those Cathar women who had recanted their heretical beliefs and had come back to the bosom of Holy Mother Church. It was becoming a centre where aspiring young preachers gathered together to await papal approval of the founding of the preaching order envisaged by Dominic de Guzman. In the meantime, and before official recognition of the preaching friars came from the Pope, the Daughters of Dominic as they were called, those women who had been ‘saved’ from eternal damnation, spent their lives in the monastery in prayer and in preaching and in thanksgiving for their salvation.
Maurina was well aware of what she was about to get into as the wagon reached the courtyard of the monastery. Although she knew it had only been kindness that had driven the friar to help her, she recognised that she had landed in the middle of a hotbed of Catholicism. For a Cathar she couldn’t have arrived at a worse place. She wondered to herself how long it would take the nuns to discover her true religious beliefs. All I have to do is miss mass once or twice and they’ll suspect, she thought.
Climbing out of the wagon, with as much difficulty as when she had climbed in, Maurina was greeted by two serene faced women dressed in the simple garb which marked them out as Sisters of Prouille. They had been amongst the first of the young noble women that Dominic had managed to woo away from the Cathar church. When they saw the state of Maurina’s feet they clucked in sympathy and called for a porter to help her into one of the refectory rooms. Almost fainting with pain, her feet were now simply a mass of raw flesh, she sank gratefully on one of the wooden benches lining the wall.
“We’ll have those right in no time,” the older of the two sisters said. “Fetch me some linens and some amaranth powder.” The younger of the two women went off to do as she was bid.
“How far have you walked? It must have been a long way to get your feet in this state.” She looked kindly at Maurina who was at a loss as to what to say. She certainly didn’t want to disclose the fact that she had walked from Lavaur and she certainly didn’t want anyone here to know she was intending to walk to Montsegur! That would have raised eyebrows and all sorts of questions might follow.
“My brother and I are walking to my uncle’s house in Merens.” The lie slipped easily out of Maurina’s mouth. She used the same lie she and Pons had told the year before when they had made their way to Montsegur with Arnaud. She thought if it had saved them once before, it was worth a try again. Luckily the explanation seemed to satisfy the nun and Maurina breathed a sigh of relief. She was becoming an accomplished liar.
“Your brother, you say. Where is he? Won’t he be worried about you?” The nun’s concern was kindly but nevertheless Maurina answered cautiously.
“He is in Fanjeaux. He went to find an inn where I could rest and before he got back to where I was waiting; your Brother Paul rescued me and brought me here. I would be obliged if you could just wrap my feet for me and then I can be off. Perhaps I will be in time to get a lift back in the wagon that brought me. Someone must be going to take it back to the carter.”
The nun looked horrified. “You cannot possibly set out again until your feet are healed, at least a little. You will lose both of them if you are not careful. Once infection gets into all those open sores you will be bedridden for weeks. Do be sensible, my dear.”
“But what about my brother?’ Maurina was near to tears. They seemed to come at the most inopportune times. She was not usually this weak spirited.
“We shall send one of our porters with a message. Your brother may join you here or wait in the town. It will certainly be a week before those feet are fit to travel again. Where did you say you were going?”
“To Merens to stay with my uncle. My mother thinks it is too dangerous for me around here and wants me out of harm’s way.”
“I can’t say I blame her, what with all these routiers and other soldiers about. A girl’s virtue is very hard to protect. Have you ever thought of joining us in the monastery? It is a calm and pleasant life even with all the strife that is around us. Brother Dominic has brought us peace since we gave up our evil Cathar ways. He has promised us God’s forgiveness now that we have repented.” She stopped as she noticed the look of horror on Maurina’s face.
“What’s the matter, child?” Maurina had started to stammer. What could she say? “Oh I know a cloistered life isn’t for everyone. You want to marry and have babies. You are certainly pretty enough for that!”
“Yes, yes. That’s what I was thinking,” Maurina said. Thank goodness that the nun had not discerned the real reason for her horror. The thought of staying in this Catholic stronghold amongst the very people who had caused the horrible death of her father made her physically ill. As it was, she was wondering how she would manage to stay in this place for a week until her feet healed.
The blessed relief that the unguent lent to her feet once they had been bandaged caused Maurina to wonder how she had managed to walk as far as she had. She had grown so used to the pain that she had begun to accept it as a normal part of her daily life. How far away from here the days of her early childhood seemed. Her mother and father, Pierre and Saissa had brought her up as they had their natural children and she had always been secure in their love. She looked around her as the nuns bustled to clear up the bowls and ointments they had used. They had been kindness, itself, but still she was fearful. What if they discovered who she really was?
Pons, meanwhile, returning to the wall where he had left Maurina sitting, was just in time to see the cart she was in, disappearing round the corner. The owner of the vehicle who had been so summarily relieved of it was still standing in the road, wringing his hands and bemoaning his fate to anyone who cared to listen!
“Did you see a young girl go from here?” he demanded roughly, fearing the worst.
“If you mean the girl whom the friar took to the monastery, they’ve just left. That’s them in my cart. The friar ‘borrowed’ it because she couldn’t walk.”
“I know she couldn’t walk. She’s my sister. Where have they gone? Which monastery?” He didn’t need to hear the answer. There was only one monastery hereabouts and his heart sank at the thought of Maurina’s delivery into the religious centre of the enemies of their people. How would she cope, he wondered. She was, after all, only a child although she liked to think of herself as a woman grown.
“How far is it from here?” he demanded.
“If you are a fast walker, about an hour. Are you going there now?”
He was speaking to thin air. Pons had already started to run in the same direction the cart had taken.
“Hey wait a minute! I’ll come with you. I need to get my cart back and I don’t trust that lot to return it. Not anytime soon, anyway”. Panting for breath he caught Pons up. “You move fast, don’t you? What’s the hurry?”
Afraid to arouse the man’s suspicions, Pons cast about in his mind for an answer that would satisfy the cart owner’s curiosity. “My mother has given her into my care and I have sworn on my life to deliver her safely into the hands of our aunt and uncle”.
“Oh, she’ll be safe enough with the sisters, if that’s what’s worrying you. They’re an odd lot, to be sure. Used to be damned heretics, you know. Brother Dominic converted them back to the arms of Holy Mother Church, praise be to God.” He blessed himself piously while watching Pons covertly. The lad felt rather than saw the odd looks he was receiving from the carter and he hurriedly made the same sign of the cross that he had seen his companion make. The thought entered his mind that perhaps this cart owner was more than he seemed so he quickened his pace in an effort to discourage more conversation.
“You’ll not keep this pace up for long, my lad. Best slow down. You’ll have blisters like your sister if you’re not careful’ the man’s face was getting redder by the minute. It was all too obvious he didn’t make a practice of walking very far!
“I must see she’s well cared for. My mother would have my skin if anything should befall her little dove.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust the nuns? She couldn’t be in better hands!”
Pons didn’t reply. He could see that this man, whoever or whatever he was, was intent on finding out more than the young man was willing to reveal. Silently begging God’s forgiveness for the lies he was about to utter, Pons turned to the man.
“She has already run away once. She had a lover, an older man. He was a soldier from the north and most unsuitable. He took her virtue and then abandoned her. It was only God’s mercy she didn’t find herself with child. That’s why my parents are so intent on getting her away from home. I can tell you the gossip wasn’t pleasant!”
“Ah, your point is well taken, young man.” The carter licked his lips, a mite salaciously Pons thought. “Is she a wild one, then, your sister?”
“Not in the least” Pons defended his sister vigorously. ‘Wild one” could aptly describe Maurina but not in the way the carter thought of it “This man took advantage of her, spinning her stories of the life they would live up north. Poor girl was complete
ly hoodwinked. We found out that he was even married and had several children. If ever he comes near her again I will personally seek him out and make him pay.”
By now Pons had made his story so convincing he began to believe it, himself. He could only hope that Maurina would forgive the lies he had told about her. They were the one sure way to convince anyone that they were not Cathars. No Cathar woman would have dreamt of having anything to do with a soldier from the north who would be one of Simon’s men and doubtless a member of the Church of Rome.
“I know young women can be a bit of a handful; I’ve two daughters myself. Both finally married off and to good men. Not before time I have to say. They both had fancies that a father found hard to control. They were man mad, not to put too fine a point on it. Comes of not having a mother to guide them, I say. My poor wife died ten years’ ago. But still, they are both settled now so we are all content”.
That’s more than I can say for Maurina and me, Pons thought, wondering when life would ever get back to normal for the two of them.
The journey to Prouille took longer than Pons would have liked, mainly due to the fact that the carter was unused to walking any distance at all. He complained bitterly all the way and it was all that Pons could do not to rise to the man’s series of complaints about the convent and its inhabitants. He still did not trust the carter and was as non-committal in his responses to him as he could be. It was just about impossible to know whom to trust in these times. Neighbour had never been set against neighbour before in this peaceful part of France but with the advent of de Montfort and his mercenaries who were not particular about whom they killed, people had taken to giving information to the enemy to save their own skins. Who could blame them, thought Pons? I would do the same if my family was threatened!
The so-called Daughters of Dominic, there were nine of them, Pons would find, were led by the same woman, Raymonde Claret, who had donated her own cottage to the Church. By dint of her donation to the convent, she had assumed leadership of the young women who had been put into houses run by the Cathar Bonnes Dames. Their noble but impoverished families had known that the ladies of Cathar persuasion would ensure that their daughters’ virtue would remain intact and that they would be well taken care of. Despite having been clothed and cared for by these good women, according to Dominic, they had been saved from a fate worse than death.
