by Bell, Gradyn
Esclarmonde had been debating with some enthusiasm the question of religious tolerance and, particularly, the place of women in the Catholic Church—an idea so foreign and, indeed, abhorrent to most of the clergy there that the majority of them had never even paused to consider the matter beyond what they had been taught regarding the place of women in society. What they failed to see or perhaps did not wish to see was that many women in this region of France held property in their own names, were often better educated than their husbands and were well able to hold their own in any kind of debate. Unfortunately, the clergy for the most part tended to ignore any contribution made by a female, and it was a rare prioress or mother superior who made any mark at all on the thinking or the teachings of the Church in Rome.
Getting to her feet, Lady Esclarmonde turned on Stephen, her stare coolly unnerving to the minor churchman who now wished he had kept his mouth shut. Looking to his companion Dominic for support, he saw that none was forthcoming. Dominic was a man possessed of a religious zeal that would one day become a mania that would tear the country apart, but even he could not help but admire Esclarmonde for her intellect, her capacity for charitable works and for the aura of sanctity that seemed to surround her.
“Brother Stephen, you are perhaps not acquainted much with this part of our country and therefore perhaps you might be forgiven your remark which has dismissed out of hand half of God’s creation. Aren’t we as women part of that creation, part of His divine plan? Do you think we were created so that our opinions could be ignored? Did He not give us the ability to understand? We are not accustomed to being dismissed to tend to our spinning, and though you seek to deny the reality of the equality of women with men with your anti-feminist teachings, the fact remains that we are as able as you!”
Esclarmonde’s gentle smile served only to discomfort Stephen all the more, the rebuke having been delivered in so mild a fashion. She turned her attention once more to the body of the meeting.
“Now, let us proceed. I am given to understand that your church objects to our manner of living together in pairs of the same sex, and that the Holy Father accuses us of living in sin and practising unnatural and shameful vices.” She turned to her friend Guilhebert de Castres, the Cathar bishop who had given her the consolamentum the previous year in Fanjeaux.
“We do not have to explain to you our method of preaching,” Guilhebert continued. “You already know about it. Many Catholic clergymen travel about the country in pairs as we do. You know why it is done. It is not merely for companionship, although that in itself is a good thing. We do it for teaching purposes and sometimes for safety. The mountains that divide our country from yours are full of brigands and robbers, and although we never fight to defend ourselves, there is a certain safety in numbers, be it only two.
“Also, if one of us should fall ill, there is always another to bring the message to our people. You accuse us of immorality because we do not believe in the sacrament of marriage. You say our believers live with concubines, that they sire ‘bastards.’ We say they seek only God’s blessing on their union. They do not need a priest for this. God will judge us all.”
“He will, indeed,” replied Dominic, rising to his feet. He looked weary from his unceasing travels around the countryside visiting towns and villages. Dominic was a man whom even the perfecti could admire in some way. His austere life, in contrast to that of many of the Catholic priests around him, rivalled the lives of the perfecti themselves. He lived on bread and water and slept on the bare earth. His feet in his sandals were bloody and torn, a condition to which the perfecti could relate, having suffered the same in their own travels. His attitude of humility here in this great hall, amongst a group of his own Catholic brothers who looked somewhat disdainfully at his gaunt appearance, was given the lie by the words he spoke next.
“I have already said this before. I have spoken only words of peace to you until now. For several years I have begged you with tears, pleaded with you to see the error of your way, but you have not responded. We have a common saying in Spain: ‘where a blessing fails, a good thick stick will prevail’. We shall rouse princes and prelates against you, who will, in turn, arouse whole nations. Many of your number will perish by the sword. Towers will tumble and walls will topple. You will be reduced to slavery, and force will prevail where gentle persuasion has failed.”
A frisson of excitement ran through the Catholic contingent as they acknowledged Dominic’s fiery energy in his preaching as well as his formidable faith, a faith in which so many of them were lacking. The Cathar contingent was silent. They knew well enough that these threats were not empty.
“I do not believe a ‘big stick,’ as you call it, is a worthy weapon of Christ,” Guilhebert replied. “Your church has become little more than a despised body. Your clergy do not believe what they preach; nor, indeed, do they practise it. Their personal ambitions count for more than their pastoral duties. They abuse power for their own gain. Until these things are changed, you will lose your people. They flock to us daily, for they seek some honesty, love and dedication in their beliefs!
These ordinary people do not require great cathedrals or statues to worship. Nor do they wish for altars, shrines or miraculous images. They want to be as close to God Himself as possible. They need no priests to intervene between them and God. These good people wish no one any ill; they desire only to be left to worship as they think right. They want the freedom to make their own choice in these matters.”
“Why can we not live in peace with one another?” Arnaud blurted out. “Why is it we cannot worship in our own way as our Jewish and Muslim brethren do? What harm do we do?”
There were mutters of approval from the Cathar side of the hall. The Catholics shifted uneasily in their seats, but there was no answer forthcoming to Arnaud’s question,—at least, not one to which they would admit. Couldn’t these wretched people see how they were beginning to destabilise the whole of the region of Occitania? If some of the Catholic clergy had been unaware of it before, they now knew for a certainty that any attempt to stop this heresy from spreading would be an uphill struggle. The very serenity of the Cathars and their unshakeable belief in the righteousness of what they were doing drew the great mass of people to them. The Catholics could not deny this fact. What was more galling to them was that it wasn’t only the poor illiterate masses who were being converted; many of the nobility of the region who ought to have known better were also following suit.
The meeting at Pamiers drew to a dismal end. Catholic prelates and Cathar bishops alike left the Chateau de Castela with their own views more entrenched than ever. They all knew that sometime in the not-too-distant future, the matters of freedom of belief would need to be resolved for good or ill. The gathering broke up with a great deal of discontent, especially amongst the Catholic clergy, who had hoped to win to their own cause many of the souls who had been present. Alas, they were disappointed and rode away, shaking their heads at what they considered to be the canker that was spreading before their eyes like a cancer gone mad.
At Esclarmonde’s request, some of the perfecti and their female counterparts stayed behind in the Chateau after the others had left for a discussion and a revelation that would have far-reaching and valuable consequences for the whole of the Cathar community. The few who had been invited to remain were shown into her solarium and sworn to secrecy. On the long bench in front of the fire lay the mysterious package wrapped in silk which Bertrand had delivered into her hands following his promise to the Templar Knights. As the piece of silk was unfolded and its contents spread out so the whole group could view it, most of those present had no idea of the significance of what lay before their eyes. It was only after noticing the reverence with which the linen was handled by Esclarmonde and Bertrand that they realised they were in the presence of something precious.
Esclarmonde bade Bertrand tell the story of the visit of the Knights Templar and the other two travellers to Montsegur at the time of his illne
ss. Leaving out none of the details, he told the story of the mystery of the cloth and of its fabled powers. There was a great indrawing of breath as he recounted the passion with which their eastern brethren had spoken. A hush fell over the room as Bertrand went on to say that these men believed that the outline on the linen, which could clearly be seen, was in fact the outline of the body of the crucified Christ. There was enormous consternation when Bertrand announced this last fact, for they all believed as they had been taught, that Jesus had never existed as a man but had only taken on the appearance of a man.
How could a spirit have left an imprint? The question was on everyone’s tongue.
“Whatever we may think and believe, whether or not we will have to investigate this further,” Bertrand said firmly, “the fact remains that this linen has for centuries been regarded as a protector of good against evil and, as such, it is our duty to guard it well.”
“Besides which,” Esclarmonde added, “we know this to be one of the most important relics that Innocent wanted to get his hands on. He sent people from Rome to Constantinople for that very purpose. We must never let it be known beyond these four walls that we have it in our care, for it would be a fine excuse to start a revolt. Imagine the Pope’s call to arms to rescue the purported shroud of Christ. How the soldiers would flock to that holy cause!”
She looked about her at the nine serious faces of the men and women present. “I will carry it back to Montsegur as soon as it is safe to do so. It has been arranged that in the rebuilding of the fortress a niche will be constructed within the walls so as to conceal it from prying eyes.
The location will be known only to us present here. In more peaceful times, it would not be deemed necessary for so many to be burdened with this knowledge, but you all know as I do that times are getting more difficult for us by the day, and sadly not all of us may survive.”
Esclarmonde’s words were to prove prophetic, although the shroud was not the immediate cause of the events that followed. Strangely enough, it was the unpopular Peter of Castelnau, the haughty and despised Papal Legate, the Pope’s own ambassador, who set the fires of revolt in motion. Having spent the past months organising a league of all the barons who held land in the south whose sole purpose was to hunt down and bring the heretics to justice, he was incensed when the premier baron in the whole of the south, Raymond of Toulouse, refused to join the group.
Raymond had been heard to say that if he did join he would be hunting many of the people with whom he had grown up and whom he admired and trusted. They lived peaceable lives, causing no trouble by their beliefs, and therefore he politely declined Peter of Castelnau’s invitation to join his league of ‘hunters’.
The Legate was furious and excommunicated Raymond immediately, in public and with a great deal of fanfare. He also put the whole of Raymond’s domain under Papal interdict. No person living in the domain of Toulouse could take part in any religious observance of the Catholic Church, especially communion. Furthermore, anyone seeking to aid the Count would be excommunicated.
To say that Raymond’s men were loyal was an understatement. Hearing of his excommunication, some of them enthusiastically set off to rid the world of the unfortunate Legate. They caught up with him and his party near St. Gilles on the banks of the River Rhone where he had been waiting to cross en route to Rome. The deed was done within a few minutes and he was despatched to meet his maker before anyone knew what was happening. Later, tales were told of the Legate’s dying prayer that his assassin should be spared. People laughed out loud when they heard this. No one believed the proud and haughty Legate would have spared a thought for anyone but himself. As it was, wrapped in his enormous travelling cloak and shivering—in fear, some unkindly said; in shock, others more Christian said—he received his last communion and departed this world for a better one.
No one could have imagined the cataclysm that would follow this act.
When the news was brought to Raymond, he was horrified. He knew the killing to be a political mistake and at once made an effort to distance himself from the murder. Although he was at pains to protect the Cathars in his region, he was himself a Catholic and knew that the killing of a Papal Legate would have dire consequences. Of course it did, faster than even Raymond expected. Angered by the incident and knowing it would justify a declaration of war against the heresy-tainted country of the south of France, a justification he had long sought, Innocent called a Crusade the very next day to resolve the issue once and for all.
There was no shortage of volunteers. At once, knights, peasants and freeman, inspired and horrified by the Legate’s blood-stained white habit which was being paraded around the churches in France, flocked from all quarters in the north, eager to serve under their lords or their bishops. Many noblemen in the north of France looked speculatively at the rich provinces of the south. The Pope had declared that the lands and possessions of the heretics and of those who supported them were open for the taking. There was promise of great financial gain to be made, and all the rules of a foreign Crusade—the indulgences, the keeping of one’s property free of debt, the placing of one’s domain under the protection of the laws of the Church, which meant that all the property therein was untouchable—drew sinners and debtors alike to the support of this grand new army.
Many lords came, for the taint of heresy had already spread to the northerly provinces of France. Not surprisingly, they were afraid of a conflagration within their own domains. Better to fight the cause on someone else’s land! Some, however, were inspired by a genuine desire to serve what they truly believed was God’s cause. The fact that God’s cause happened to march in step with their own cause and could include large financial rewards was a happy coincidence!
News of the call to this new Crusade excited Simon beyond measure. It still rankled him most keenly that he had had to forego the Crusade against Zara and Constantinople. Here was a golden new opportunity to serve God in the way he knew best—fighting! He could hardly wait to tell Alicia about it!
Chapter Thirteen
Occitania, South of France
1209 AD
The Albigension Crusade
With a frown, Simon looked up from the parchment that bore a heavy red seal to see who had disturbed him. His faced cleared as he saw that it was his wife who had entered the room. Again he thought how beautiful she was and how fortunate he had been in his choice of a partner all those years ago. Her grace and beauty had never dimmed in his eyes, and she still carried herself as though she were twenty.
She had had five children, three of them strong and healthy sons. A fourth son, who had been baptised Robert, had died in early infancy. Her oldest child had followed in his father’s footsteps with regard to his love of a good fight. God be praised, Amaury was pleased to go wherever his father went, and it would not be long before he would attain his knighthood. Their second son Guy was somewhat of a dreamer, or so said the reports back from the estate of Simon’s friend, the Count of Comminges. True, he had learned his lessons well and was no stranger to the rudiments of fighting, but as Bernard the Count had said, his heart was not in the sword in his hand. He had learned the language of the people of the south and, at fourteen, could sing in a pleasant tenor voice—a skill useful in any great hall in the land but of not much account on the battlefield. The third and youngest son, named Simon after his father, was a baby but a few months old. Their only daughter, a pretty five year old, was the apple of her father’s eye!
“What have you there?”
Alicia’s question caused Simon to pass her the document, but in so doing he could not hide the look of weariness that crossed his face. “It’s a summons from the Council. Now that Carcassonne and Beziers have fallen to us and the Count has died—somewhat fortuitously, from our point of view—it seems there is a vacancy for someone to take over his lands and possessions and lead the Holy Crusade. They have petitioned me to do so.” He looked at her somewhat ruefully. “It seems that I am no sooner back than I
must be off again. I am to report to Arnold-Almeric with all speed to discuss this.”
“Why does the Papal Legate require you? You have only just returned from Carcassonne. There must be several others able to lead the army!” As usual, Alicia was protective of her husband, for she was well aware that the fighting had been hard in the taking of these two large cities. However, she knew her husband well enough to understand that there would be little to stop him accepting this offer. Leading a Crusade was the sort of command he had only dreamed about!
Simon’s eyes shone as he responded. “I think they will make me Viscount of Beziers and deed all of Raymond-Roger’s domains to me. Don’t you see? This will make us rich! This is an ideal opportunity to enlarge our holdings for our boys. The possessions of Raymond-Roger are enormous when you compare them to ours in the north. And don’t forget, we can no longer count on my lands in England since King John took away my inheritance of Leicester after my uncle’s death.”
“But why can’t we be happy with what we have? Why can’t we just do the forty days we owe the papal army as we and all the others have promised? Many lords will be returning to the north shortly, their duty done. Why can’t we do the same?”
Her eyes held the beseeching look that he had always found difficult to resist. He knew she feared not only for her own and his lives but also for the lives of Amaury, who would fling himself into battle regardless of the consequences, and for Guy, who was still in the domains of the Count de Comminges whose lands were sure to be ravaged as the army moved south. Alicia had insisted on following Simon to Lyons on the first part of the Crusade, with the intention of extracting Guy as soon as possible from the area in which the heresy was most predominant and where she knew most of the fighting would take place. She could tell by the set look of his face that her pleadings would come to naught.