by John Lyman
They both stared back at him for a second before the two of them burst out laughing.
Leo slapped him on the back. “I don’t know how you do it, John. You always make me laugh at the most inappropriate times.”
Chuckling to himself, Lev reached to light his cigar before he caught himself. The smell of cigar smoke would be a dead giveaway. No sense in giving their pursuers a cigar-scented trail to follow. “Let’s keep moving. There’s a side tunnel up ahead that exits under the ruins of an old abandoned castle.”
Moving on through the twisting tunnels, they reached a steep stairway carved into soft white stone. Looking up, they saw a faint light and began to climb until they reached several massive stone blocks that had tumbled down into the tunnel, leaving only a tiny crawl space between them and the daylight beyond. One by one, they all squeezed through, ending up outside among the crumbling ruins of a long-forgotten castle.
A sudden gust temporarily blinded Leo, and as he turned to shield his eyes, he spotted Lev standing behind a large block of stone, trying to light his cigar.
“Where are we?” Leo shouted against the wind.
“You’re standing in the ruins of a 12th century Cathar fortification.” Lev pointed across the valley to a column of smoke rising into the sky. “That’s what’s left of our castle.”
Against a clear blue sky, Leo could see the dense black smoke rising from a hilltop in the distance. Instinctively, he scanned the vicinity for helicopters and listened for the distinctive staccato-like chop of whirling rotor blades. It looked like the choppers were gone ... at least for now.
Walking to the edge of a cliff, Leo could see that the weathered ruin of this medieval castle lay next to a sheer rock wall overlooking the river. It was obvious that its builders had taken advantage of its natural defensive position, for it would have been suicide to mount an assault up a sheer cliff, even though, unbeknownst to Leo, the details of history had spared this particular castle from ever being attacked.
Seven hundred years ago, the castle’s residents had abandoned it in place and fled for their lives in advance of a marauding army that had swept across the land putting everyone to the sword, even women and children. Rather than war, it had been stone masons who had reduced the castle to rubble when they had quarried its stone over the years for the construction of houses in a nearby village.
Leo felt a chill run down his spine when he surveyed the large cracked stone and looked out over the golden fields below. Ever since he had first arrived in this area of France, a vague feeling of uneasiness had been tugging at him. There was something about this place that had troubled him, something that he had been unable to put his finger on ... until now.
It was at that moment, on a cliff with the wind in his face, that Leo was suddenly struck with the realization of where he was standing. It was here, in this exact part of France, that the Catholic Church had begun its depraved descent into one of the darkest chapters in its long history, for this had once been the land of the Cathars.
Leo had found their story fascinating. He had actually offered a semester-long course on the Cathar religion to some of his graduate students when he was teaching at Boston College, but hardly anyone signed up, so the course was dropped.
The Cathars of the Languedoc, as they were called, were a religious group that suddenly appeared in the Languedoc region of southern France in the 11th century. Their origin remains something of a mystery. It was as if they had blown in on the wind, much like the wind that now whipped over the men, women, and children who were huddled together behind Leo. Seven hundred years ago, Cathar families had also huddled together on this very hilltop, preparing to flee from a murderous army bent on their destruction.
Long before the days of the Protestant Reformation that eventually changed the face of religion in the Christian world forever, the Cathars had been a separate religion from Catholicism. The word Cathar came from the Greek Katharoi, meaning “pure ones”. Unlike other medieval movements, they had formed their own system of religious beliefs centered on kindness to others, the rejection of material wealth, and the promise of universal redemption inspired by Christ and his disciples.
They regarded men and women as equals, and they opposed all forms of killing, both human and animal. Because of this, they refused to eat meat or any other animal products, including eggs. Many of their ideas would seem startling and rather new-age, even to modern man, but their Christ-like theology of forgiving those who persecuted them was even more astonishing in the 11th century, a cruel period of history when man still believed the sun revolved around the earth.
Theirs was a dualist theology, for the Cathars preached that there was a complete incompatibility between love and power. Another radical departure from traditional Christianity was their rejection of the established belief in a one all-encompassing god. Instead, they believed in two equal gods of comparable power and status—one benevolent and one evil. In other words, they believed in a good god and a bad god. Basically, it was a different way of looking at the two separate entities of God and Satan, although some would argue that point.
They alleged that the physical world was evil and created by the Satan-like god they called Rex Mundi. He was known as “the king of the world” who ruled over all that was physical, chaotic, and powerful. The other god, the one whom the Cathars worshipped, was said to be a spirit of light that was completely untainted by all things physical. He was the god of love and peace. If modern hippies would have chosen a religion, it would have been the religion of the Cathars.
The Cathars believed that mankind was infused with a spark of divine light. This light, or spirit, had become captive in the physical body in a world ruled by Satan, thus the spirit of humanity was trapped in a sinful world created by an evil god and ruled by his corrupt minions.
At its doctrinal core, their beliefs centered on the New Testament, especially the Gospel of John. Because they embraced the New Testament as their most sacred text, they rejected the traditional view of the Old Testament, proclaiming that the God of the Old Testament was really the devil. Those who followed this line of thinking believed Satan had created the world as a sort of prison for mankind, and that he used the Old Testament to demand fearful obedience from his children. To the Cathars, this made perfect sense. It explained the human condition of suffering and misery brought on by violence, disease, hunger and poverty—all the things that had plagued humanity since the beginning of time, and Satan was behind it all in the form of an evil god that ruled over the earth and all things material.
The true god of the Cathars was a higher god—a god of love—a pure spirit that embraced his human followers. They believed that Jesus Christ was his messenger and referred to themselves as Christians, but the Catholic Church called them something else. To the medieval Catholic Church, the Cathars were heretics.
At the time, the region of southern France known as the Languedoc was not really considered a part of France. The culture of the area was still rooted in the feudal system, but the enlightened Cathars refused to swear an oath to any feudal lord. By the early 13th century, the tolerant and liberal beliefs of the Cathars had become the dominate religion in the area, much to the annoyance of the Catholic Church, who was being held up to public ridicule when their bejeweled abbots and priests, dressed in their best finery, preached poverty and demanded tithes to be paid to them in the name of the Church. The Cathars referred to the Catholic Church as the Church of the Wolves, while the Catholics countered with accusations that the Cathars belonged to the Synagogue of Satan.
And so it went, back and forth, until finally, the Church had had enough. After the French King, Phillip Augustus, refused to intervene, Pope Innocent III called for a crusade against the Cathars of the Languedoc and formed a Holy Army. The first military leader of this army was a Cistercian abbot by the name of Arnaud Amaury, a churchman with a sadistic penchant for terror and killing. He is best remembered for a command he shouted to his troops before they entered th
e town of Béziers in 1209. When asked by his soldiers how they could differentiate between the Catholics and Cathars, he said “Kill them all ... God will know his own!”
Coincidentally, this famous quote was lost to history until it was resurrected by modern mercenaries. Their motto, “Kill them all, let God sort them out” can be found today emblazoned across the fronts of T-shirts worn by wannabe soldiers of fortune who sadly picture themselves as elite warrior-philosophers, even though they have no idea that the origin of their motto can be traced back to a man who prided himself in the killing of innocent women and children.
During this period of history, a war of terror was waged against the indigenous population of the Languedoc by the Church. An estimated 500,000 Languedoc men, women, and children were massacred—Catholics as well as Cathars. During the attack on Béziers, the doors to the church of St. Mary Magdalene were broken down and over 7000 men, women, and children, were reportedly dragged out and slaughtered.
Thousands of others in the same town were blinded, mutilated, dragged behind horses, burned at the stake, and used for target practice before the holy crusader army burned the city to the ground.
After the siege, Arnaud proudly wrote to Pope Innocent III, “Today Your Holiness, twenty thousand heretics were put to the sword, regardless of rank, age, or sex.”
Later, after the massacre at Béziers, Simon de Monfort, an especially dangerous and cruel baron who had successfully laid siege to the walled city of Carcassonne, was designated as the new leader of the Crusader army. The war against the Cathars continued on and off through the 14th century, setting the precedent for the various church-sponsored inquisitions that were to follow.
The lands of the educated and tolerant Cathars were eventually annexed by France and given to a group of nobles from the north, for in truth, it was a quest for land and Cathar riches that had been the driving force behind the crusade in the first place. In the end, an entire culture had been exterminated in what can only be described as church sanctioned genocide. The crusade against the Cathars of the Languedoc has been described by historians as one of the greatest human disasters in history on par with that of the Jewish Holocaust in World War II.
Leo closed his eyes against the relentless wind as he thought of the senseless slaughter that had occurred in the cities and villages and fields all around him. The crusades of the Languedoc are a black mark against the Church that continues to this day, and for good reason, for the world can never forget what a few cruel men can do to a relatively harmless group of people in the name of religion—any religion.
A shout from below broke Leo’s reverie.
“Come on, Cardinal. We’re moving out.”
It was Alon, walking back up the hill with John from a scouting mission of the path along the riverbank to the south.
Leo deferred to Lev. “What do you think? Is it safe for us to leave this position now?”
“It’s probably vital. These are the kinds of places they will begin searching first. They’re bound to know that we’ll be seeking places of refuge that have the best chance of defense.”
“Ok then. Let’s get going.”
Leo joined the others and soon the entire group of men, women, and children were making their way down a winding path along the side of a steep cliff. Once down by the river, they continued walking south along a concealed dirt path that ran parallel to the riverbank. Alon and John took up a position a hundred yards ahead of the main group, weapons at the ready, while Moshe and some of the other men from the compound followed behind and covered the group’s retreat from the rear.
The men who had attacked the castle were not the only ones they were concerned with. The countryside had become a dangerous place since the plague had stopped the flow of food and other supplies from reaching nearby cities, forcing people from urban centers out into the surrounding countryside where they could forage for food in the fields. The French police and army were spread thin, and out here in the country, the situation had degraded into an every-man-for-himself mentality. After stockpiling the food they had grown themselves, the local farmers had barricaded their villages against the city dwellers. A new day had dawned around the world, and only the strongest and most prepared would survive.
Insects buzzed the fleeing families as they continued their slow trek beneath a canopy of overhanging trees. The water along this section of the riverbank looked deceptively still, its current running just below the surface. It was a striking metaphor for their situation; the woods around them looked calm and peaceful, yet there was an undercurrent of danger out there among the trees and fields, where men with guns hunted for anything that could keep them alive for just a few days longer.
Up ahead, Leo saw John running back in their direction, pointing down the river.
“There’s a big black river barge just up ahead.”
“Does it look old?” Lev asked.
“Very.”
“That will be the one we’re looking for. Let’s go.”
The group followed John around a bend until they came to a long barge tied to pilings that had been driven into the mud next to a wooden landing that was covered in leaves. Leo stood back and studied the aging vessel.
The barge reeked of oldness. The black paint on its thick planks was peeling off, and the cracked, dry wood of the railings was warped with age. Without waiting, Lev hurried up a squeaky plank to the deck.
Leo followed behind, while John and Alon began supervising the process of loading people and equipment onboard. Looking around at the flat deck, Leo was beginning to have his doubts. The boat had an odor about it that reminded him of the inside of a museum. It was as though the musty smell of river mud had permeated the wooden planks of the hull, daring it to float.
Rising only three feet above the weathered deck, a long structure with narrow windows ran down the center of the barge. Built low to allow the barge to pass beneath the many ancient bridges in this part of France, it also provided the added benefit of allowing light and air into the lower sections of the barge.
At the back of the barge was a small pilothouse that jutted only a few feet higher than the raised structure, making it obvious that steering the barge was accomplished from the stern section of the boat. Leo had just entered the pilothouse and was staring through the dusty windows when Lev walked up and joined him.
“Are you sure this is your friend’s barge?” Leo asked, peering through dusty windows that looked like they hadn’t been washed in years.
“Yes ... positive.”
“I always thought barges were pushed by tugboats.”
“Most are, but the canal barges in Europe are self-propelled. The engine room for this one is right beneath your feet. Care to look around inside?”
“I don’t suppose it could be any worse off than the rest of the boat. I just hope this thing will make it all the way to the sea.”
Lev smiled. “Rest assured, my friend ... it will. Barges like this have been plying the rivers and canals of France for hundreds of years.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Leo said, looking at the rusty gauges next to the steering wheel. “Do you think it’s wise to risk the children on something as old as this?”
“Their risk comes from something much greater if we don’t get going, Leo. Come on, I want to show you something.”
Opening a door that led below, Lev disappeared down some stairs. Ducking his head, Leo followed behind through the short opening into the darkness. He heard Lev fumbling around for a switch until, finally, the lights came on. Leo was shocked. The modern interior took him completely by surprise. A short hallway lined with artwork opened out into an immense space lined with dark cherry-wood paneling. Individual seating areas populated with tasteful leather and fabric furniture sat on Persian carpets that lay spread out on polished, hard wood floors, while recessed canned lighting highlighted brown granite counter tops in a large state-of-the-art kitchen that flowed into an entertainment area that included pool tables
and wide screen TV’s. In short, the interior looked like a layout in Architectural Digest magazine, and it was huge. There was enough space for over a hundred people.
“What in the world is this, Lev?”
“It’s my friend’s vacation home. He also uses it for corporate retreats. He’s hosted more than a few lavish parties onboard this boat. The barge is really only a couple of years old, but he wanted it to look old and beat up on the outside to discourage anyone from breaking into it when he wasn’t around, plus some other reasons we’ll go into later. Of course, he has a state-of-the-art security system, but so far this low tech tactic has proven to be his best defense. No one has ever bothered trying to burglarize this boat, and I’m counting on its unassuming appearance to work to our advantage as we make our way down to the sea.”
“It sure fooled me,” Leo said, watching Lev grin as he lit one of his ever-present cigars. “And you enjoyed every minute, watching me squirm, didn’t you?”
“I have to admit, Leo, it was fun. Come on, let’s get everyone down below before anyone spots them and starts asking questions.”
It took only a few minutes to get everyone below decks while Moshe fired up the diesel engines and ran a check of all the systems. Up on deck, several of the men pulled in the lines securing the boat to the shore, and soon the beat-up looking barge was motoring smoothly down the river.
CHAPTER 38
As the sun dipped in the west, the barge was half-way to the coast when one of the lookouts on the bow spotted a group of tough-looking men standing on a bridge—a bridge the barge would soon be passing under.
Armed to the teeth with various types of weaponry, Alon and John were crouched down in the pilothouse deciding on a plan of action if they proved to be hostile. For now, the situation called only for close observation; they would have to watch and wait.
Posing as bored deckhands, the Israelis kept their weapons hidden from sight under tarps as they sat on deck and made a show of playing cards and drinking wine. As the bow of the barge passed beneath the bridge, their muscles tensed when they noticed that the men above were watching their progress with more than casual interest, and at least one of them was holding a rifle that looked like an AK-47.