by Karen Ranney
Dawn had come too swiftly.
Sebastian was not beside her, but she did not seek him out. Instead, she found her way to the bathing room of the Cathars. When she’d first seen it, she’d marveled that they had devised such a chamber. A cistern on the roof, both still intact, held water that was piped down into a basin for washing. Langlinais had such an innovation, but the Cathars had refined it. A pipe led to a large stone bath. Removing a wooden plug at the bottom of the stone released the water, that then sluiced over the stone floor of the chamber and down through the privy hole.
She spent more time than usual on her morning ablutions. She placed a soft wet cloth over her eyes until the pain in them subsided. Tears had made them swell, and she had spent too much time in tears yesterday. She changed her clothes for a soft yellow surcoat she’d not worn before. She brushed her hair vigorously and left it unbraided. Her last act was to rewrap her hands as well as she was able. She would need Jerard’s help to tie the trailing ends of the bandages at her wrists.
She hesitated at the doorway of the bathing chamber. Part of her wished to remain in this room, or barricade herself in another part of Montvichet.
The only time the world had truly been kind was when she’d tucked herself into her work and remained there, adrift in thoughts from great and learned minds. She had, like a mouse in its burrow, felt safe as long as she did not peer from her hole. But life was lived at places like Langlinais among the sounds of singing and laughter. It was lived, finally, in each day. Whatever the location, whatever the circumstance.
She walked from the room, closing the door softly behind her.
What had she felt before coming to Langlinais? What emotions had she experienced? It was as if that girl had existed in a timeless limbo, waiting until the first glimpse of Langlinais before feeling anything other than fear. Yet, there was a full range of emotions to choose from now, all of them granted to her by Sebastian.
She did not know what love was, perhaps. But she knew its absence. It was what she would feel the moment Sebastian left her.
He watched as she walked into the courtyard. The sun bathed the yellow rock of Montvichet with a golden light, making the stone glitter. The glow surrounded Juliana as if it approved of her appearance. She smiled, an expression he stored away in his memory for later. For now, it had the power to make him stare at her and savor the picture of how she looked, her black hair shining, her cheeks pinked and her lips softly curved. A spike of pain slid easily through his soul. The price to pay, then, for knowing her and loving her.
She had matured in the past weeks. Her smile was still tentative, but then it had always been rare. But in her eyes was a look that had not been there before, an anticipation, not of excitement, but of pain. It was as if she’d told herself she must be wary, but still retained enough innocence to keep it at bay.
Her black hair was left unbraided, allowed to tumble down her back. The only adornment she wore was a small gold circlet upon her brow. She wore a half surcoat that fit at her shoulders and fell behind her. The soft yellow folds seemed to accentuate the blackness of her hair, as if in her person night met with dawn.
When had he become enchanted by her? At their first meeting, of course. “Are you Death?” she’d asked.
His virgin bride. Of all the things he regretted in his life, it was not that they had not coupled. It was that he had never brought her joy, never brought her to ecstasy.
Perhaps one day she would find someone to love, marry again. A union in truth and not simply in name. There would be smiles again at Langlinais, and laughter there. Perhaps she would name one of her children for him, a sign of her fondness and memory. There might be brothers to play again on the bridge like he and Gregory had done.
He wished for her all that he had never given her.
The woman who greeted him this dawn was not the same one he had married. To this woman he’d relinquish his home without a hint of concern. She would, he knew, be able to maintain Langlinais, provide for the well-being of all those who would come to depend upon her. In her eyes he could see a hint of that woman to come. A woman of wisdom, who would stand at the east tower often and face the world. Would she think about him?
That was the source of the grief he felt. That he would not be able to share each of her days, that he would never see the changes time brought to her.
He saw her shock, her recoil, knew the moment she became aware of what he wore. Not armor, nor monk’s robe, but the uniform of the leper. It was of reddish brown wool with a crimson L embroidered upon its back and front. Distinctive and frightening. It was the first time he’d stood so before the world. Even now, it tasted of hell.
His men-at-arms did not know if such a garment was the stuff of jest, or a ruse to fool the Templars. They had, after all, traveled with him for weeks and had not seen that he was ill. But people will notice what they wish, and often ignore what they do not want to see. He did not doubt that after this morning they would cross themselves while cursing his name.
He wondered what the Templars would do. He would take the chalice to them, and hope that such a gesture would protect Juliana and his men from assault. Then, once he was assured of their safety, he would vanish. It did not matter his destination, only that it was as far away from Langlinais as he could travel.
Jerard brought Faeren to him, but he shook his head. He would ride one of the other horses into exile. Faeren would return to Langlinais and live out the rest of his life in peace. It was scant enough appreciation for the loyalty and skill with which the horse had served him.
Juliana walked toward him, her head held high, her face expressionless. Her eyes were deep pools of green. Soundless tears fell down her face. She did not even seem aware of them. “Need it be so soon, Sebastian?”
“What can time bring us, Juliana?” he asked gently. “Do not weep, my lady. Give me these last moments with you without sorrow.”
His words silenced her, but did not stop her tears. Did she know that only by the greatest of wills would he be able to walk away from her?
“The Cathars believed the soul lives again,” he softly said. “That our bodies are only vessels to be discarded after a lifetime. Perhaps one day we will meet again, my Juliana. In a place where I might touch you, where I might enfold you in my arms.”
“Then let it come quickly, Sebastian,” she said, her voice tremulous through her tears. “Not a hundred years or a thousand, but soon. I will wend my way through eternity seeking you.”
He gave the signal and Jerard stepped forward, handing him the reins of his mount. He tied the chalice to the saddle. He did not mount, since the horse would need to be led over the bridge. He was nearly at the gateway before he turned. In a voice designed to carry, a declaration meant to be heard so that all of the Langlinais men would hear it and repeat it, he said, “Aristotle was once asked the definition of a friend. He answered that it was a single soul dwelling in two bodies. What is love? I think it is the same. Be my soul, my dearest Juliana.”
Chapter 32
“How touching, brother.”
Sebastian looked up at the sound of that voice. A quick survey brought him to the source of it. Gregory stood, not at the main gate of Montvichet, but at the ruined wall to the north. Evidently he had scaled the wall just as the final invaders had done, ending the siege.
A moment later, the bridge was swarming with Templar sergeants attired in brown and black mantles. They filled the courtyard, pinning his men against the wall with their swords. They had no choice but to lay down their swords.
It was not alarm Sebastian felt, but a sensation of doomed destiny. That it should be his brother who faced him was not so much ironic as expected. He had been right, then, to think Gregory behind this ploy. A slight nod was his only acknowledgment.
His brother looked well. They were of a similar height and build. Only eighteen months separated them in birth. Age would wear equally on either of them. The last two years had evidently agreed with Gregory, an ob
servation that was met only with a smile on Sebastian’s part.
“I was surprised, Sebastian, to discover that you were headed for this cursed place. I half expected the treasure to be in safekeeping at Langlinais. But you left Montvichet for the Holy Land, didn’t you? You’d not enough time to dispose of it otherwise.”
“I had no thought to do so, Gregory. In fact, without your threat it would have remained here forever. It was not mine to take.”
“How righteous you sound, Sebastian.”
“Label me what you will, Gregory. I do not judge a man by his words, but by his actions.” He walked closer to his brother. “Was it your treachery that lay behind the attack on us?” His voice was low enough that it could not be heard by others. Inducement for Gregory’s confession? If so, he was disappointed.
“Were you set upon, Sebastian? But you know that the roads are not safe.”
“And made even more dangerous by you, I’ve no doubt. How did you obtain their cooperation, Gregory? Torture or gold?”
Gregory only smiled.
“Have you the treasure?” There was a look of such supreme satisfaction on his brother’s face that Sebastian was tempted to strike him. But that action would be idiotic, especially since they were surrounded by Templars, swords drawn.
“I will surrender it only upon certain conditions.”
“You are hardly in the position to offer conditions, Sebastian,” Gregory said, his tone amused.
“Release the woman and my men, and the treasure is yours.”
Gregory smiled, looking behind him. “It is too late to bargain, Sebastian. The treasure has been found.”
Sebastian turned. The chest that had been tied to his horse’s saddle had been sliced free. A sergeant knelt in front of it, his fingers trembling as he raised the lid.
Gregory brushed by him and extracted the goblet. He extended his hand, held it up triumphantly, as proudly as a king would a scepter. The Templars stared in wonder at the sight of the chalice. He lifted it so that the sun’s light flowed through the glass. It bathed the stones of Montvichet in a crimson glow.
To Sebastian, it looked too much like blood.
Gregory packed the chalice away reverently, tucked the chest beneath his arm.
“The Holy Grail, Sebastian. A treasure, indeed. If you were less a lover of heretics, you might well be rewarded for such a prize.”
“I will allow you the glory, Gregory,” he said, his attention on Juliana. One of the Templar’s swords pressed against her, pinning her to the wall. Yet, she did not look as fearful as she should have. Instead, his wife appeared angry.
“What ruse is this, Sebastian?” Gregory wore a small smile while appraising him, as if just now noticing the strange robe he wore. “I commend you on the originality of your deception. Did you think to slip by us, then?”
“No ruse, Gregory,” he said, his attention reluctantly diverted from Juliana. “The truth, perhaps, unpalatable and raw.”
“A leper?” There was derision in the question. Perhaps even disbelief.
Sebastian walked toward his brother, his own smile firmly anchored. The Templar sergeants fell back and away from him as he did so. Evidently they did not think it a trick. He removed his gloves slowly, watching the expression on Gregory’s face alter as he drew closer. Amusement quickly changed to revulsion. Gregory held up a hand, then stepped back.
Sebastian began to pull apart the laces that held closed the neck of his leper’s robe. It gaped open, allowing a view of his chest, and the darkening sores there.
“It is not necessary, Sebastian, I need no further proof.” Gregory’s face had turned ashen.
“You are wondering right now, Gregory, if you touched me. If our breath was shared, or if you can contract such a horror simply by being my brother. Shall we test it?” Sebastian took one step forward, but his way was blocked by the sharp edge of Gregory’s sword.
He laughed, and the sound of it, bitter and harsh, echoed through the courtyard. “What, no prayers for me, brother? No wishes for my good health? Did you know that it used to be a sign of good fortune to cross a leper’s path? Do you think you shall be blessed, Gregory? Or cursed?”
“You are the one cursed, Sebastian.”
“Am I? Do you dream of Cathar children, Gregory?”
“They were heretics.”
“Did you tell yourself that when you watched them burn to death?”
Gregory frowned. “Do you think yourself safe to utter these accusations because you are my brother?”
“I do not see you slicing me through with so many witnesses present.”
“An arrow can come from anywhere, Sebastian.”
“I am dying, Gregory. Kill me or not. It does not matter. I ask only one thing of you, that you spare the woman and my men.”
“If I will not?”
“Then I will beg,” Sebastian said simply.
“Gather them up,” Gregory said to the men in front of him, his attention never veering from Sebastian.
Two men gripped Juliana’s arms, but she wrenched free, only to be restrained again as easily. They dragged her to the gateway. “No!” she screamed. Her feet scrabbled against the stone courtyard as she was pulled forward. Then, impatient with her resistance, two of the Templar brothers lifted her and transported her toward the bridge.
At first Sebastian did not believe what she was saying. Then, the word slammed into his heart with the force of a boulder.
“I am leper!” Her declaration echoed in the sudden lull of the courtyard.
She was dropped to the stone floor.
“No, Juliana!” He stepped forward only to find his way blocked by Gregory’s sword pointed at his throat.
“I am leper!” She knelt, displayed her bandaged hands as if in proof. Those men nearest her dropped back, pressed against the wall to avoid her touch.
“I am leper!” she shouted, for the third time. There was no hesitation in her voice, but her lips trembled, her face was pale. Still, there was determination in her eyes. Now, he witnessed the strength always hinted at, the resolve always promised.
She got to her feet, her hands aloft as if her trailing bandages covered sores too horrible to view.
“Prove it,” Gregory said, his sword moving from Sebastian to point in her direction.
“You wish me to unwrap my hands?” She looked stunned.
“Do you need help?” He glanced around the courtyard. “Who will help this woman bare her hands?”
No one came forward. The touch of a leper could kill.
“Jerard,” Sebastian called out, “aid my lady.”
Jerard stepped forward, bowed before her. Juliana looked stricken, as if she could not believe the depth of his betrayal.
“No, Jerard,” she said softly. He did not speak, nor look at her face as he reached for her hands.
She glanced at Sebastian. “Please, Sebastian.” He knew what she wanted. To be with him, to share his anguish. To spend the nights and days together in a blessed hell comprised of joy and terror. He could not watch her die in front of him, and would not give her the burden of his death. Jerard would unwrap her hands and prove she was not diseased and in doing so would save her from the fate she’d impulsively decreed for herself.
He shook his head and at his gesture, she smiled. It was a smile out of time or place, not at all suitable for this moment of danger. It was soft and spreading as if she began to feel great joy.
He should have known what she would do. But he did not.
She stepped forward, brushing by Jerard when he would have restrained her. She ignored the sword that slid across her surcoat as if it was no more substantial than a spiderweb. She did not appear to hear the muttering of others, Gregory’s command, even Sebastian’s shout to Jerard. She moved among the men trained for war and they parted for her, silenced not by her taint of disease as much as the look in her eyes and the smile she wore.
He had the thought that she was not unlike Magdalene, her abbess, Hildegard
of Bingen, women of intelligence and determination. She was possessed of all that and more, or perhaps it was simply the courage in her face that silenced the men in the courtyard and held them mute as they watched her.
She reached him at last, her smile delicate and trembling, her eyes filled with softness, as if she wept again but the tears had not yet fallen.
“Hairetikos. You told me once it meant to choose. I choose you, Sebastian,” she murmured. She startled him by laying her hand against his cheek. He felt the scratchiness of the linen of her bandages, inhaled the scent of her. No longer roses, but something else. The smell of spring, perhaps.
Then she stood on her tiptoes, reached her bandaged hands around his neck. Shock held him immobile for a moment, then when he would have pushed her away, she drew his head down and pressed her lips against his.
Chapter 33
I forbid you to live with any woman not your own. The words surged through her with the power of a prayer.
She had not thought herself brave enough. But it had not been courage that had helped her walk across the courtyard to Sebastian, it had been his earlier words to her. Had she indeed been taught to fear? Juliana, you might lose your eyesight with so little light. Do not touch that plant, Juliana, it will give you a rash that will scar your skin. Do not go near that dog, Juliana. He may bite you. She recognized, now, that the cautions of the nuns had been because she was the Langlinais Bride, and as such, to be cared for and protected. But she had taken their words and transformed them into her fears, and had trembled at life.
She was no longer afraid. So, she stepped back from him, the taste of his mouth still on her lips and smiled.
“What have you done, Juliana?” His whisper was agonized.
She heard the noise around her, horses being led, the muffled curses as their men-at-arms were led at sword point through the gate. She cared nothing for that, or the prick of pain at her shoulder as she was shoved away from Sebastian. All she knew was that they would not be separated now.
