by Bell, Gradyn
Several of Arnaud’s former neighbours—some clutching pots and pans and other cooking utensils and others some of his wife’s linen and old clothes—insisted he go home with them for a bite to eat. Not wishing to offend anyone, he begged off, saying that he must be back in Lavaur before nightfall. Shepherding those who had come inside the cottage firmly out the door, he closed the windows he had opened when he arrived, and with a last look around, pulled the still resisting door shut.
He had only gone a little way—the good wishes of his former neighbours still ringing in his ears—when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw that it was Berthe.
“I’ll walk a little of the way with you,” she said. “I would like to hear how the baby is going on. She must be nearly a year now!”
“She’s nearly ten months and is doing well.” Arnaud could not help sounding like a proud father. “She has begun to crawl and can say ‘papa’—at least that’s what it sounds like to me!”
Berthe smiled. “I imagine she is very pretty, like her mother.”
“She is. She looks exactly like her. She has the same blue eyes and blond hair.” His voice took on a note of sadness.
“You must be very pleased that she went to the Boutarras. I have heard only good things about Saissa. They say her own children are a credit to her. I wish I could have had Maurina with me, but as you can see, I always seem to be busy myself.” She looked down ruefully at her burgeoning figure before whispering, “I heard they were believers.”
Arnaud looked at her, the surprise evident on his face. Could he trust her with the truth about Saissa and Pierre? He knew Berthe’s reputation as a gossip was second to none and didn’t wish to bring unwelcome attention to the couple whom he had grown to admire for their dedicated way of life. He was well aware that he could not have been more fortunate in his choice of foster parents for his daughter.
“They may be,” he said, choosing a middle ground between outright denial and admitting the truth.
“It’s only that I am interested in the believers myself,” she continued. “I’ve spoken to one or two in the village here, but I have to keep it from my husband. He’d be furious if he thought I was having anything to do with them. You should have heard him go on about that man who came to see your poor wife before she died. My mother was impressed by him, though, and she’s nobody’s fool! She says she didn’t know what he said to your wife but could see that the poor girl died happy. My husband thought it was a scandal. No priest and all, you know. Well, to be honest, so did I at the time, but I’m not so sure now. I’ve heard that even women can have their say in their meetings. That’s a bit different from the Church,” she said with a sniff.
Hardly pausing for breath she went on. “My mother and I have been talking. As a midwife she has seen all sorts of people—good and bad, rich and poor—and she says she has never met a believer who did not live a good, honest, hardworking life. We’d both like to find out a bit more about how they live and why, but in this small place it’s difficult getting someone to look after the children. And I daren’t ask their father to mind them…or any of the neighbours—they’re all so nosy.”
Arnaud suppressed a chuckle. He was certain he was in the presence of one of the nosiest women ever created by God, but didn’t doubt her sincerity. He left her with the promise that he would ask around in Lavaur to find someone who would come and talk to her.
Arnaud hardly noticed the walk back into Lavaur, so occupied was he by what Berthe had said to him. If the truth were known—and he could scarcely admit it to himself—he had spent the whole of last winter since his wife had died, and most of the spring and summer, in the company of several believers who had impressed him with their ideas and the fact that they lived by what they preached. Never a religious man, he could easily recognize the difference between them and the priests in the Catholic Church.
The abstemious way of living of the Cathars, as people were beginning to call them, contrasted sharply with the profligate life that many of the Catholic clergy led. There were some good and honest men amongst the priests—those who strove to bring comfort to the poor and needy—but on the whole, these were largely lost in the hundreds whose object it was to get rich at the expense of their parishioners. Several Archbishops had spoken out about the abuses they saw in their church, but there were just as many who turned a blind eye to what was going on under their noses. Since the death of his wife, Arnaud had turned these facts over in his mind time and time again. He had never occupied himself much with his church; going to mass on an irregular basis was the closest he had come to finding God. He could not remember his last confession but he knew it had been before he had married!
As these thoughts chased one another around his head, his mind began to clear a little. He realised that he had had little interest in women since his wife had gone. There had been several who had pushed themselves forward, eager to fill an empty space in Arnaud’s life—he was, after all, a well-set-up man with good prospects in the glove trade now—however, rather than seek the company of women, more often than not he had found himself in the company of some of the Cathar elders, enjoying their lively discussions and listening to their teachings. They were all, to a man and to a woman too, excellent and persuasive speakers!
So it was, that along the dusty road leading to Lavaur, Arnaud finally made up his mind to find out as much as he could about the beliefs of all the good people he had encountered since his wife’s death. What the future would bring he could not guess; he only knew that for the first time in nearly a year, he had begun to feel a peace within himself.
When Arnaud, pleased with his decision, spoke to his in-laws, he saw that there were tears in their eyes. It was an emotional time for the three of them, for they all knew that but for the death of his wife, they would not be savouring this moment in Arnaud’s life.
“If only she could have been here to see this,” said his mother-in-law, kissing him. “She would have been so happy.”
“If she had lived to see this change in you, her life would have been complete,” her husband added. “But come now,” he continued, “we both know that she is alive and well somewhere in another body, and one day Arnaud, you will be certain of it, too. If we truly believe this, there is no need at all for sadness.”
His wife looked at him and in a voice quivering with emotion said, “I do believe she sees what is going on and is happy that she was the instrument of Arnaud’s calling.”
“No more tears, then. Arnaud’s way will be long and arduous. If he is to achieve what God has chosen him for, we must help him all we can. God alone knows what is in store for our Church. The Catholic Church sends out warnings against us and some of our people have been burned at the stake in the north. Times will be harder from now on and we should think ourselves blessed that our Count Raymond, although not a believer himself, has many family members who are, and does his best to protect us from the worst of any persecution. He has held back the tide of hate that flows from Rome, but, alas, the waters are getting stormier and he may not be strong enough to help us all he would wish.”
After this unexpectedly long speech from his father-in-law, Arnaud sat down. Until this moment, he had truly not considered the persecution that the believers had undergone. Of course, he had known that they practised their religion under conditions of near secrecy, but he had not understood the importance of this as a protective mechanism to ensure the survival of their Church.
“You must take care to whom you speak.” Arnaud’s father-in-law looked him straight in the eye. “Eventually, you will come to know all the brothers and sisters, but in the meantime speak with Bertrand and seek his advice. He’ll not fail you.”
Arnaud’s mother-in-law went off to prepare the simple supper they ate every evening before bed—plain broth served with a few vegetables and bread. Worn out by his walk into Ambres that day, seeing the remains of what had been once a happy life, and the hugely emotional decision he had made, Arna
ud felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy.
“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” his mother-in-law suggested. “You can get an early start tomorrow. You’ll probably catch Bertrand before he sets off again.”
Arnaud gladly accepted the invitation. It had been a long day, one that had been physically and emotionally draining. It did not take him many minutes, wrapped in the warmth of the dying fire, to fall asleep.
Arnaud’s father-in-law looked at the young man speculatively as he slept. “He’ll do,” he grunted. “He’s just the sort we need. He isn’t greedy for worldly possessions and there doesn’t seem to be another woman on the horizon. I’ve noticed a strength in him lately—not a hardness but a tempering, like a fine metal. He’s very fit, too. Bertrand told me that when they were away together last year, he was able to keep up with them and never once flagged or asked for a rest.”
“Time will tell,” his wife said. “I am sure as I can be that God has called him. And if it took our daughter’s death to accomplish this, I think I can live with that.”
The next day Arnaud was up at dawn, intent on waylaying Bertrand before he left on another preaching trip. He wasn’t sure where the perfectus had been staying, but armed with some suggestions from his erstwhile hosts, he managed to track him down after knocking at only two doors. He was just in time; the older man was already garbed in the familiar black robes and sandals that signified his rank in the Cathar Church and was saying his goodbyes to the faithful couple whose religious zeal had made them worthy enough to receive him under their roof.
Although he was in a hurry, for he had a long journey ahead of him that day, Bertrand greeted Arnaud with a warmth that spoke volumes to the younger man. He had heard these men called bons hommes by non-believers and he was beginning to understand why. They were good men. Although people who didn’t really understand what the elders were about had accused them of being miserable because of their austere way of living, there was no doubt that their example had caught the imagination of many in the general population. They visited village after village, and indeed chateau after chateau, where they were received with extreme veneration as they carried their message in their preaching. Even the most cynical of non-believers had to admit that the lives of these men of God were dedicated and pure. Fasting was a way of life to them; often their only meal would be bread and water. In any event, no meat ever passed their lips and they would sooner die themselves than kill any living creature. It was well known that one of them had once chosen to be hanged rather than kill a chicken!
“Welcome, my boy!’ Bertrand held out his hand to grasp Arnaud’s in a firm handshake.
“I’m so glad I managed to catch you,” Arnaud said. “May I walk with you a while?”
“Certainly you may, but I think I know why you are here. News travels fast in our communities, especially good news!”
“Then you know why I wanted to talk to you?” Arnaud’s questioning voice was hopeful.
“Indeed I do and think it is an excellent idea, but first I must make plain to you the course on which you wish to venture. It will never be easy, as I believe I have already told you. You know we are people of peace and must never respond to physical provocation, even in self-defence. Therefore, we never go armed in any way, trusting in our God to protect us if it is His will. If, God willing, you ever become an elder or perfectus, as we are commonly known, you may no longer own any property except the clothes you are wearing. You must give up your family ties. Perhaps one of the more difficult requirements, especially for you younger men, is complete abstention from any sort of sexual contact.” He looked long and hard at Arnaud as he said this.
Arnaud did not hesitate before responding, “I have heard all these things and am willing to learn. As for women, it will be no hardship for me. The memory of my wife is too strong for that to be otherwise.”
Bertrand smiled at the emphatic way Arnaud had responded to him. “Our communities are organized into communal houses, and you will join one of these, probably at Fanjeaux. It is there that you will begin your training as a novice. Make no mistake, your vocation will be tested frequently to ascertain your worthiness. If you succeed in this and are judged worthy, you will be presented to the community of elders who will elect you to their group after you have been baptised. It is a long and burdensome journey and could take several years before you are ready. Do you think you are strong enough to do this?” The older man’s eyes were kind but searching.
Arnaud felt as though his soul had been bared in front of this man. “I feel ready, but only time will tell.” Arnaud’s answer was honest and the one Bertrand was seeking. “One thing you may be certain of,” the young man continued, “is that I will not allow your trust in me to be misplaced.”
Bertrand smiled once more. “I have never thought that you would let anyone down, but it is God’s trust you must consider, not mine. I am but the instrument; His is the purpose.” Bertrand’s tone changed and his voice became brisk. “One of us—probably one of our female believers—will fetch you in the next few days and guide you to our seminary in Fanjeaux. Use the time between now and then to reflect seriously on your decision and to say goodbye to your little daughter. You may not see her for some time, but you may rest assured she will be in the hands of a couple who will love her as their own. I will see that you are kept informed about her progress, so you will have no need to be distracted by worrying about her.” With that, Bertrand gave the young man a farewell embrace and Arnaud turned to retrace his steps to Lavaur.
In less than half an hour, he was back in Lavaur and went immediately to Pierre and Saissa’s house. Breaking the news that he would be leaving and might be away for several years was very difficult for him. Although they had been taking care of the baby for almost a year, Arnaud’s lodgings had been close by and he had been able to visit the child frequently. He had seen her grow from a tiny bundle of crying baby into a plump, smiling ten-month-old. He always enjoyed his times with her, especially since she had started to respond to him and would recognise him when he came into the house, attempting in her gurgles to talk. He knew he would miss her very much.
The Boutarras were ecstatic at his news. They were very fervent believers; to them, the Catholic Church was the great Whore of Babylon, the seat of Satan’s power. Anyone who was willing to preach to combat the teachings of that church was a hero in their eyes. Although the believers were a peaceable group of people, they held firm beliefs about the ultimate end of those who were not fortunate enough to belong to their Church. So it was with great delight that they greeted Arnaud’s announcement of his impending departure and the reason for it.
Saissa rushed next door to tell her neighbours while Pierre brought out the flagon of wine reserved for special occasions. They talked until late into the evening, mostly about Maurina and what Arnaud’s decision meant for her. As a growing child, she would see little of her natural father and would soon come to look upon the Boutarras as her real family. It was agreed that it would be less unsettling for the child if she didn’t see her father at all. It was sad, but the reality of the situation was that he would be gone for long periods of time and it would be best if she were not upset by his infrequent visits. This was not to say she would not be told about her real father; they would keep his memory alive for her as she grew older. In time, it might be possible to send her to one of the communal houses run by the perfectae, the women elders of the Church. It was all too far into future and time would tell. In the meantime, it was agreed that she would stay with the Boutarras until she was twelve or thirteen.
As he left their house that night, Arnaud looked sombre. He recognised that this was the first of many tests and privations he would be called upon to undergo. His heart constricted at the thought of saying goodbye to his child. After all, she was all that remained to remind him of his wife and a former life that seemed now only a dream. He and the Boutarras had arranged that he would return the following week to say his final goodbyes. In the mea
ntime, he would fill his time meeting other believers and tidying up a few last bits of business. There wasn’t much to do, he thought. The slate of his former life had been wiped clean with his last visit to Ambres. The only thing remaining from the first twenty-five years of his life was his baby daughter, and it seemed that now even that connection was to be broken.
The week passed by in something of a blur. Arnaud spent a considerable amount of his time carving a wooden toy for Maurina. It gave his hands something to do and kept his mind off the inevitable parting from the child. He carved a small bird, a dove that she would be able to grasp in her small fingers. He drilled a hole through the neck so that a thin strand of leather could pass through it. Perhaps, when she grew older, she might wish to wear it as an ornament. As he carved he wondered how she would grow up. She was very much like her mother in looks, but it was too soon to speculate about her character.
Polishing the dainty wooden ornament till its surface was as smooth as silk, his thoughts inevitably turned to the huge step he was about to take in his life. In his mind he likened it to setting sail on an unknown voyage. Where was he going and to what purpose? Where would he end his voyage? Life was becoming ever more difficult for the believers.