“It must be Pierre Bermond,” said Bertrand. “They want to negotiate and they know he is the one man in that Crusader camp that you will talk to.”
“It is a chance to end this all,” said Cabaret.
“Why negotiate now?” said Bertrand. “If half their army is ready to leave, we can wait them out. It could rain any day now.”
The three men looked out the courtyard at the cloudless, blue sky, burning under an unremitting sun.
“And it could not rain for weeks,” said Trencavel. “I would have no city and no people left to rule by that time. If they are nervous, now is the time to negotiate. Get one hundred of my knights and meet me at the gate.”
Trencavel turned and headed to his chambers to change. Trencavel would meet his negotiators as an equal.
Trencavel walked down to the courtyard. His squire held his finest Arabian steed and Trencavel jumped onto his back. Already Cabaret and Bertrand waited at the front of a hundred knights, all on their fastest horses. They waited as the drawbridge slowly dropped and then marched across, Trencavel in the lead.
Trencavel stopped in front of Pierre Bermond, their men arrayed behind them in the hot wind. No one spoke and the only sound was of the flapping of banners in the breeze. Trencavel looked at his old boyhood friend, and thought how sad it was that this man, of all others, would be fighting in the army that came to take his lands and his castle. Yet, he knew that this man loved him as a brother.
“Sire,” said Pierre Bermond. “I am your kin, may God watch over you and over me. I have a great wish to see you healthy and safe of this trap. You must accept a negotiated surrender. If you could count on some kind of prompt aid, I would heartily approve of your desire to defend yourself, but you and I both know that all hope is in vain. Accept therefore the good will of our Pope and these noble Crusaders. In truth, sir, if you oblige us to take you by force the massacre will be equal to that of Béziers. So, content yourself with saving your life. At least there will remain for you a bit of chance.”
“Sir, I put myself under your protection" said Trencavel. “I will go to hear what these Northerners have to say, if you promise me that I can cross the Crusader camp without fear.”
“Sir, on my honor,” said the knight. “I will take you there myself and bring you back here, back among your men safe and sound, I swear it.”
Trencavel turned to choose the men he would bring with him. Cabaret and Bertrand stepped forward.
“Cabaret, I will you to stay here and lead the men while I am negotiating,” said Trencavel.
Cabaret nodded.
Next, Trencavel looked at Bertrand, whose face was a mask of pain and who sat atop his steed none too steadily, holding his wounded leg with one hand.
“Do not ask me to take you with me,” said Trencavel.
“I will obey you, my liege lord, even though I do not want to,” said Bertrand. “I will always be your loyal vassal.”
Trencavel clapped Bertrand on his back.
“I will be back soon, old man,” said Trencavel and smiled at him.
Trencavel and Pierre Bermond headed towards the Crusaders' camp, followed by Trencavel's nine vassals and Pierre’s thirty men. As they entered the camp, knights and sergeants rushed up, crushing each other, wanting to see Trencavel and pointing out the man and elbowing each other, their eyes round. Trencavel arrived in front of the pavilion of the Count of Nevers, where they held the counsel of the Crusade each day. As he dismounted, he thought, I will see what their offer is. Perhaps it will be one that I can bear. For after all, what honor is there in ruling over a land of the dead?
All of a sudden, men burst out of the Count of Nevers' tent and jumped on Trencavel, pinning him to the ground and stripping him of his sword. Just as quickly, Trencavel's nine men were surrounded.
Pierre Bermond jumped to the side of Trencavel, his sword in his hand, ready to fight. Just as quickly, he was disarmed and thrown to the ground as well.
“What treachery is this?” screamed Pierre Bermond, trying to throw off his attackers. Finally he was overcome by the other Crusaders and held next to Trencavel and his nine knights.
“My brother, I did not know,” said Pierre.
“I know,” said Trencavel. “I know.”
“Have you no shame?” bellowed Pierre Bermond at the knights of the Crusade gathered outside the tent of the Count of Nevers.
No one answered.
Constance
Friday, August 14, night
Constance gently closed the eyes of the old man. At least he had gone in his sleep. He had been kind to Constance and she was glad he now had peace. For Constance surely believed that she would have gone mad in this house of death without his even, calm presence.
Constance looked around her. She was not even sure how long she had been here. She picked up the jug of wine. It was empty again, but she dreaded walking down those stairs to the cellar, past the pile of the dead. They were all gone. The mason and Guillaume rotting in jail if they had not been hanged already. Beatritz's whole family gone.
Except for the little girl Aude. Constance believed, through who knows what miracle, that the little girl would live. She slept now, peacefully, her color better and her fever gone. Constance had cleaned her many hours ago and she had not since soiled the sheets. Perhaps she would be one of the blessed who had survived this horrid flux.
And except for Beatritz herself. She sat in the corner snoring, her hair matted and her face streaked with dirt. When Beatritz had awoken from the knock to her head she remembered nothing. Constance had kept her supplied with plenteous wine ever since and, fortunately, the woman had slept most of the rest of the time.
Constance clumsily walked over to the window overlooking the street. She threw open the shutters, but the air outside was as foul as that inside the house. Constance felt a wave of nausea sweep over her. She placed her shaking fingers on the edge of the window and looked out. Her throat felt parched, but the thought of drinking more wine to slake her thirst made her stomach turn.
Constance looked down at the people in the street and she noticed that something had changed. Still the wounded lay moaning in the streets, but others were moving. Voices wafted up to her.
“Trencavel has been taken,” shouted one man.
“The Crusaders are waiting at the gates to massacre us all,” screamed a woman.
“We tried to flee, but the gates are closed,” said another.
Soon, those who could move were doing so, even though there seemed nowhere to go. Constance was glad that she was locked in a house with a cellar, even though nowhere was safe from fire. Suddenly, she felt hands grab her throat from behind and start to choke her. Constance grasped hold of the hands and tried to pull them apart, but she could not. Then Beatritz let go and swung her around, shaking her by the shoulders.
“You foul heretic bitch,” said Beatritz. “What are you still doing in my home, befouling it with your presence?”
“I was just trying to care for your family,” said Constance. “They were sick.”
“And you killed them all with your foul spells and your necromancy,” screamed Beatritz. “Look, they are all dead!”
The little girl woke up and sat up in her cot, her eyes wide as she stared at the mad woman her mother had become. She began to scream.
Beatritz turned deathly white and began shaking.
“Look it is a foul ghost come back to haunt us,” whispered Beatritz. “It is the devil himself who has taken on the corporeal presence of my dead daughter.”
Beatritz looked wildly around and finally put her hands on the empty wine jug. She started to move forward, the wine jug over her head. Her small daughter screamed even more in her terror.
Constance quickly jumped on Beatritz from behind and brought her to the ground, kicking and screaming. Constance had to escape from this house. She jumped up and ran to the cot to pick up the screaming child. Beatritz came up from behind, grabbing at Constance's tunic.
“W
e must kill the devil,” screamed Beatriz. “Don't you see? Or are you blinded? Or in league with him, you foul fiend!”
Constance kicked hard at Beatritz who fell to the floor, clutching her stomach. Constance held the little girl tight and ran down the stairs. She heard Beatritz shrieking behind her, but did not stop to look as she ran to the door and struggled to lift the heavy wooden beam that braced it from inside, the little girl hanging on to her and screaming. The beam was swollen in place and Constance could not budge it. She heard Beatritz' heavy step on the stair. Constance put the down the screaming child and looked wildly around her for something to use. She saw the mason's mallet in the corner and tugged it from its place. She placed it under the door and swung upwards with all her might. The beam nudged a bit. Constance swung again and finally the beam was loose. She pulled it out and held it in front of her, holding back Beatritz as she pushed the little girl behind her back.
“We will leave this house,” said Constance. “And you will be free of all heresy. But do not leave this threshold or I will tell my master the devil to send his minions to torture you and carry you down to Hell.
Beatritz stopped and made the sign of the cross, slowly moving backward, her mouth mumbling the words to prayers she did not understand anymore.
Constance reached down and picked up the little girl, who did not move or speak a word, her eyes open like bright deniers. Constance walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. She only hoped Beatritz would listen to her words and not leave the safety of the house. The streets were no place for a mad woman.
Constance looked around her. These streets were no place for any woman, let alone one carrying a child. More and more people moved about, and each rumor was worse than the one before. Constance turned and headed toward the house of good women. It was time she went home.
Walking through the streets of the city of Carcassonne, Constance wondered what this Hell was that these Catholics imagined for surely it could not equal the Hell they had created here. Everywhere the sick and wounded moaned while the hot sun burned down on them. Crows pecked out the eyes of the dead. The stench of decay pervaded the very earth and all was suffering or terror as the hapless victims ran through the streets. Constance almost fainted with relief when she saw the sturdy walls of the house of good women. She banged on the door and was happy to see the face of Eleanor. She could hardly wait for the old woman to open the door and fold her in her arms.
“Oh, my child, it is the blessing we were all praying for,” said Eleanor. “You are come back to us, to join the fold.”
Then Eleanor looked into the eyes of the little girl hiding next to Constance. The old woman was so tiny that she barely needed to lean over to talk to her.
“And what is your name my little bird?” asked Eleanor.
The little girl had still not spoken since they had left her grandmother's home and she did not now.
“She is called Aude, but she has seen much that no one ought ever to see,” Constance said.
“Very well, Aude, my bird,” said Eleanor. “You will stay with us and we will care for you.”
Eleanor held out her hand and Aude went to her, surprising Constance.
“Constance, you need refreshment,” said Eleanor. “You look as if you have seen even worse than this little one. We do not have much, but there is still some cheese and we have the smallest rations of water left.”
“I must see Azalais,” said Constance. “Before I eat. There are things I need to tell her.”
Eleanor looked sadly at Constance and placed her hand on the girl's arm.
“For this you will need to wait, my dear,” said Eleanor. “Azalais was taken from us this very morning. She is now in peace.”
Constance felt as if she would faint. She knew that she would be punished for her pride, but she never imagined the punishment would be so cruel. Constance started crying, but she saw little Aude's face start to pinch up again and forced herself to stop.
“Can I see her?” asked Constance.
“There is nothing more to see,” said Eleanor. “Her spirit has passed on to joy. You do not want to see the earthly vessel she left behind, for it is already stacked with the other empty vessels. Truly, without the spirit, the material vessel becomes a rotting manifestation of the evil it represents.”
“Of course,” said Constance. “She would not want that. I will go with you to eat. Please take me to the others.”
They walked past the hall where still the good women cared for the ill who had not yet succumbed to their wounds or the flux. Though herbs burned everywhere, the sick smell of decay permeated the entire house. Eleanor led her past the kitchen and up the stairs.
“The air is a little better up here,” said Eleanor. “As long as a breeze blows from the mountains. I do not understand why the miasma and foul humors take some so quickly, but leave others as if their pestilence was impotent. We have lost two others besides Azalais, but the rest of the good women remain well.”
Constance sat at the table with the other good women, little Aude finally sleeping on her lap. The Viscountess's lady-in-waiting Gauda also sat with them. Constance remembered her from her visits to Azalais. She seemed pale and shaken and kept looking over her shoulder at the slightest noise. Constance tried to follow the talk as all tried to guess what would happen in the morning, but as soon as she had eaten her fill, Constance felt an enormous exhaustion fall over her and she took Aude with her to the floor, where they slept on unrolled blankets. Constance did not know whether she would live or die tomorrow, but that did not keep her from the deepest sleep of her life.
DAY 15 OF THE SIEGE OF CARCASSONNE
Saturday, August 15, 1209
Constance
Saturday, August 15, morning
Constance woke to feel the warm sun on her face. She felt strangely at peace, with the warm Aude snuggling into her side. Suddenly she heard motion downstairs. She tensed up, afraid that the soldiers were already here, but the noise did not sound full of terror, only very busy. She woke up the sleeping girl who immediately began to cry, but Constance shushed her, picking up the child in her arms and heading down the stairs. The hall was open to the courtyard and the street was full of people teeming past, heading towards the gates of the city. Only the sickest still lay in their pallets in the hall. All who could walk must have left the house already and joined the throngs in the street.
She looked around, but could not find the rest of the good women. She went into the kitchen and found them all there, stuffing coins under their belts.
“Do not make it obvious,” said Eleanor. “We do not want to be stopped by the guards. Take only enough for food along the way.”
“What is going on?” asked Constance.
“The Viscount has been taken, but there will be no massacre, thanks be to God,” said Eleanor. “But every citizen of Carcassonne must leave today with only the clothes on their backs.”
“Those thieves!” said Constance. “We would just leave everything here that we worked so hard for?”
“But it is only material goods,” said Eleanor. “How can it matter? Even were we to be killed this morning, it would not have mattered to us, for it is all only earthly and passes as the wind.”
“How can you say that?” screamed Constance. “Would you have just let the soldiers kill you if they came? Wouldn't you have fought back?”
“And risk my eternal salvation by raising my hand in violence?” asked Eleanor. “Why would I risk freedom for all eternity for a few more minutes of earthly existence, miserable and brutish as it is?”
“I would have fought them till I died and I would have come back in the next life to hunt them down,” said Constance.
The other good women all stopped what they were doing and stared in shock at Constance.
“My child,” said Eleanor. “It seems that you are no longer ready to be a good woman. For you know how we must live - never to lie, never to take an oath, never to eat the flesh of any creature,
and never to raise a hand in violence. We spend our whole earthly existence waiting for this time of trial to end. While we are here, we work to feed ourselves and we care for others, but this is all unimportant. Our earthly existence is like sand blowing in the wind, it passes quickly and we do not even know where it is gone.”
“You may stay with us, Constance,” said Eleanor. “But you are no longer one ready for eternal salvation. You must take your own path and the infinite mercy of God will bring you back to him eventually.”
“Come,” said Eleanor to the other good women. “It is time to go. We will saddle the donkey and carry the sick that remain with us in the cart.”
Constance stood looking at the women. They were kind and they would care for her, letting her stay with them as long as she needed. But Constance already knew that this path was not for her. She stepped forward to Eleanor.
“I am sorry, good woman,” said Constance. “I am not ready. But please take Aude and care for her. Her father is gone and probably dead and her mother is mad. And I cannot care for her now. I know she will be safe with you, as safe as anyone can be now.”
“My child, you will always have a home with us,” said Eleanor. “And watch that this bitterness does not poison your earthly existence as well as your heavenly one.”
Constance nodded.
“Where will you go?” she asked. “How will I find you?”
“We will head towards Toulouse,” said Eleanor. “My family is from there and there are many houses of good women. We will be taken in. I will keep Aude by my side. The good men and women will know where we are.”
Constance went around the room to each of the women and said her goodbyes, returning to hug Eleanor one last time and give Aude a kiss on her forehead. The child cried quietly, but she already clung fast to Eleanor's tunic.
Constance left the house of good women for the second time that week. She did not know where to go but aimlessly joined the throngs heading toward the gates by the Viscount's castle. She could see guards on either side of the open drawbridge as people filed out of the city. Many ran immediately to the river and slurped greedily from its banks. Others were slower and tried to hide some silver or tools in their tunics. They were stopped and whipped and then sent on their way naked. Constance watched as thousands of people streamed out of the city. They wandered numbly in all directions, on the road to Toulouse and the road to Aragon, and just across the burned fields. The crusaders began to assemble, ready to enter the city and take their loot. It was time for her to leave.
The Song of the Troubadour Page 24