by Bell, Gradyn
Guy opened his mouth to protest but shut it again as his father continued. “This may be not only Amaury’s opportunity to win his spurs but also your opportunity to prove your mettle. You are nearly a man and I expect you to uphold the honour of the de Montforts. While your mother is seeking aid from those who have promised it, you will have charge of your little brother and your sisters. You must guard our family well.” Simon stopped talking when he noticed the mutinous look on Guy’s face. “Do you have a quarrel with what I say, my son?”
“No, Papa, but I had thought to be of more use to you than as a nursemaid.”
Simon’s face was beginning to take on the hue that anyone who knew him well would recognise as forewarning of his explosive temper. “You will do as I say!” he roared. “Not because I am your father; not because I am your military leader; but because I need you to look after my wife, your mother and my younger children, your family. This is not a charge I give you lightly. I would not entrust them to you if I did not think it important. Your maman will have only the lightest of escorts because I cannot afford to let many knights go with her; we are short of men, as you know. You will have the responsibility of the younger children. And make no mistake—that is as important to me as any campaign or battle!”
Guy’s face lifted a little at his father’s words. Although he was not sure the best way to gain converts was by killing, he was even less sure he wanted to be party to attacking people with whom he had spent many a pleasant day during his time on de Comminges’ estate in the company of the beautiful Petronille whose husband, Gaston, had recently died. Alas, she was already remarried, a pawn in a system that viewed any female only in the light of political gain! If Amaury had been smitten when he had first laid eyes on Petronille, Guy had grown to adore her with the fervour of adolescent love, made all the more poignant by the several marriages Petronille was forced to make for political reasons. She would become—and, in fact, already was through her mother—a rich heiress to many large estates. She was indeed a valuable commodity! The assignment that his father had given Guy would take him away from the immediate carnage that was sure to follow, and that was not altogether a bad thing in view of his somewhat disloyal thoughts.
The next day was spent planning the army’s next move. It seemed to Guy that his father planned to be everywhere at once. Now that Simon had the bit between his teeth and had had complete control, his natural abilities as a commander soon became apparent. He understood that speed was of the essence and he used it as one of his chief weapons. Simon proposed to attack towns quickly and move on just as quickly, leaving behind a small garrison of men to keep the Occitanians under control. This would leave little time for the enemy to see how stretched his small army was.
Guy, who was allowed to sit in on the making of the plans of attack, could not help but admire his father’s handling of his military commanders. No decision was taken without the counsel of his trusted friends, and he listened patiently to their ideas before finalizing his own.
“You have my permission to use whatever force may be necessary to bring these rebels to heel,” he told them, pacing up and down the room. “We must not only swallow the prey but be able to digest it. We must not allow these rebels to raise their heads up again after we have made them bow to us. Do not allow them any quarter. If they escape, you all know they will again rise up against us.”
Simon’s words struck a chill into Guy’s very bones. He knew that his father was right. This was war; it was “kill or be killed.” But try as he might, he could not push the picture of Petronille de Comminges and her father from his mind. They had always been kind to him and, if truth were told, he had even begun to think of them as his own family.
Simon looked at his younger son. It was as if he could read the boy’s mind. “I know what you are feeling, my boy. Don’t forget that Bernard is my friend, too. We have fought many a battle together and he was ever stalwart by my side. He will have a choice. He will fight alongside his cousin of Foix, that damned protector of heretics, or he will choose God’s side, the right side, and fight with me.”
“But, Papa, his wife is one of the damned heretics, and also his sister. I think he has no real choice in the matter.”
“So be it, my son. Sadly, families will be torn apart and brother will fight brother. That is the true meaning of war!”
Simon had hardly finished speaking when a messenger ran into the chamber. Babbling almost incoherently, he had brought news that two of Simon’s knights had killed the aged and greatly respected uncle of Giraud de Pepieux. Giraud, himself an Occitanian, had joined his cause to Simon, who was in dire need of any support he could get. What had begun as a brawl fired by too much drink had escalated into something far more sinister. Giraud’s uncle owned a considerable amount of land in the area around Beziers. Simon had had high hopes of winning the old man away from the Cathar cause to fight on behalf of the Crusaders, just as he had won over Giraud.
Seeing his plan evaporating with this news, Simon flew into one of his rages. His family—particularly Guy, who had not had a recent chance to see his father thus—stood horrified as Simon ordered the immediate arrest and death of two of his own knights. The appalling punishment would be meted out as soon as the men were captured; they were to be buried alive with no trial, and their lands and possessions forfeited.
It took Alicia the best part of an hour to calm Simon down so that he could continue with his plans. As ever, she was the voice of reason when his temper got the better of him. It was she who calmed the children, unused as they were to seeing their father react in this manner. They knew of his temper and had occasionally borne the brunt of it, but they had never seen such a violent and rapid explosion. Guy was particularly upset, although he was at pains to hide his feelings. Where was his father’s fabled reputation for fairness now?
Simon drew the meeting to a close at about four that afternoon. All his men knew what their orders were. Alicia would make herself ready to ride north the next day, taking with her the younger children and Guy. Her aim was to persuade as many nobles as possible to join or rejoin the holy war that her husband would be fighting in the south. She would beseech as many bishops and legates as she could to help the cause by offering indulgences to those who took up the cross. She and the children would be accompanied by only a few men at arms, all that Simon could spare from his vastly diminished army. He was only too aware that as soon as Giraud de Pepieux heard of his uncle’s murder, he, too, would vanish from his cause and return to that of the Cathars and the other Occitan nobles. It was a bitter blow to the leader whose only real hope for help lay in the success of his wife as she travelled from estate to estate in the north of the country.
In their bedchamber later that evening, Simon drew his wife to him for what was likely to be the last time in the foreseeable future. As always, Alicia was as ardent as he was in her lovemaking, perhaps more so this night because the future was so uncertain. As she clung to him, she could not halt the fears that threatened to overwhelm her. As they drew apart, Simon was pensive.
“I hesitate to send you, my darling, but you are the only one I trust. I cannot afford men to accompany you; therefore, you must use your wits to protect yourself and the children. Guy wealds a fair sword, and wearing the cross of the Crusades, you will not likely be hindered in your task. The nearer you get to home, the safer you will be.”
“Do not fear for my safety, my love. It is you who must guard yourself well. I do not know what we should do without you were we to return and find some ill had befallen you.”
“Have no worries on my account. See only to your own safety and that of our children. I know that your judgement is good. You know that I am depending on you to carry out what we both know to be the will of God. Now, there is the other matter we must speak of.” Alicia looked mystified. “While you are away in the north, you must try to get information about the linen Arnold-Almeric told me about. I am not convinced it is what he claims, although the Holy Fa
ther seems to be sure. Whilst you are there, you must make time to visit Marie de Joinville. I know Geoffrey is not there, but Marie was recently brought to bed of another child and would be glad to see you. I am sure she must be tired of being alone in the country whilst Geoffrey is away. See what you can find out from her and if she knows anything about the piece of linen. I’m sure Geoffrey’s uncle must have mentioned it to him. Knowing Geoffrey, I think he would have been certain to speak to Marie about it.”
“I will do as you bid, my husband, although it doesn’t seem fair to take advantage of Marie. She may have been sworn to secrecy, as you have sworn me.”
“I have no doubt that you will find a way to help me, and not at the expense of your friendship with Marie. You will not let me down.” He smiled fondly at her. He hated Alicia to be away from him. She was his strength and support through difficult times, but knew he must accept it. It was ever that way with wars; men must always be parted from their loved ones.
Alicia blessed herself and drew Simon down to the prie-dieu, the small praying stool that Simon insisted on carrying in his baggage train wherever he went. They spent the next five minutes in silence, both of them occupied by their own prayers. By now it was nearing dawn, but sleep did not come easily to either of them. They slept fitfully, both pursued by devils in their dreams. Alicia, who finally fell into a deep sleep, was awakened by Simon, who was shaking her shoulders urgently.
“Come, my darling, it is time I was away. And you must be up and ready to leave as soon as we go.” He wearily climbed out of the great bed, calling for his squire. As he shouted, there was a knock at the chamber door that was pushed open somewhat unceremoniously by Amaury and Guy.
“Papa, Maman, we are ready to go. It is already two hours past dawn. The horses are waiting in the courtyard below.”
Guy’s words were borne out by the sounds of jingling harnesses and the rough voices of the soldiers who had been mustered just after daybreak.
Alicia drew her bedgown about her as she stepped from behind the heavy drapes surrounding the bed. “Are the younger children ready? Guy, go and see if you can help Nurse with the girls.”
Guy looked put out by this instruction, but he remembered his father’s words from the previous day and left the room to do as he was bid.
“Now, Amaury,” his mother said. “I wanted a chance to speak to you without Guy’s presence. I know you are brave, but I also recognise that you still haven’t lost your reckless streak. Remember the boar?” Amaury looked a little shamefaced while protesting his mother’s words. “No! Do not deny what I am saying,” she continued. “I only beg you, from the bottom of my heart, to think before you act in the coming months. I know you will be of enormous help to your papa, but only as long as you survive. This is no game. Mark my words. You will see many of your friends depart this world. I do not wish to alarm you, only to caution you.” She took hold of his shoulders. “Kiss me now, my son, and leave me.” She pushed him away before he could see the tears filling her eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Occitania, South of France
Summer 1209 AD - Spring 1210 AD
Pons
It took the Count of Toulouse only three days after his return to summon Pons to his living quarters in the Tour du Midi. It was here that he found out why Raymond’s son had told him to guard his counsel and not become too friendly with anyone.
After receiving the command to attend the Count, Pons had had given himself a cursory wash to rid himself of the smell of horse dung and with trepidation he had mounted the worn spiral staircase leading to the tower. The quarters of the Count and his family on the first floor of the tower were surprisingly pleasant and cool in the heat of the Midi sun, so cool that a huge fire blazed on the wall opposite the door. The first thing he saw was an immense table with a high chair at both ends and benches flanking the length of both sides. Although it was full daylight outside, ten candles were alight in sconces above iron-bound chests positioned against the walls. (Pons found out later that these chests contained valuables such as swords and maps, and journals dealing with the history of the Count’s family, wills and property titles. One chest was reserved for sacred writings, for the Count was a man of some education who loved to read.)
He had knocked on the door with hesitation. Receiving no response, he had pushed it inwards. The room appeared to be empty, but as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness in the room he saw the Count outside on the pathway built around the tower for the purpose of taking the air. Not knowing what he should do, Pons stood still, noting the posture of the man who had sent for him. If ever a man could be described as fatigued, it was Raymond, Count of Toulouse. He had travelled miles to Rome and back in a very short time; he had been insulted in a very polite, political way; he had had to carry out public repentance for an act he had not committed; and he was now expected to give up to the Crusaders who were practically at his door—many good and brave men he had known all his life and whose religious belief happened not to coincide with the beliefs of Holy Mother Church. Small wonder he was tired!
Turning around, Raymond caught sight of Pons. “Come here, my boy. I believe you have something to give me from my friend Bertrand.”
Pons drew out from his sleeve the parchment—very much creased and the worse for wear—and handed it to Raymond. It took the Count only a few seconds to read its contents before consigning it to the flames of the fire.
“Do you know what was in the letter?” the Count asked Pons.
“No, my Lord. I was instructed only to carry it to you.”
“Good. I like your reticence. You have not even told me who gave it to you.”
“You did not ask, my Lord.”
“I like you more and more, Pons. The letter you brought told me I could have confidence in him who brought it to me. You were not mentioned by name, which is much the safest way to proceed in these dangerous times. In fact, it was unsigned except for a small picture of a dove in the corner. Does a dove have any significance for you?”
Pons was astounded. Feeling under the collar of his jerkin, he pulled out the small wooden carving of the dove that Maurina had insisted he take along with him on his journey. “Only this, my Lord. My sister’s real father carved it for her when she was a baby. She insisted I bring it with me; she said it would remind me of home.” Pons was dismayed to feel tears stinging behind his eyelids as he recalled the words of his little sister. He hastily brushed them aside, hoping they had escaped Raymond’s notice.
“Your affection for your family does you credit, my son. Never fear to shed tears for those you love and who love you. Many tears have already been spent in this affair and there will be many more before the year is over. Now, to business!” The Count’s tone changed so rapidly it took Pons by surprise. “You must be wondering why you are here.” Pons nodded his head.
“You have been recommended to us by Bertrand Arsen and Arnaud,” the Count continued. “Arnaud has known you a great many years and has had the opportunity to watch you grow and develop into a thoughtful young man who has principles and ideals and holds fast to them. He was impressed by the manner in which you presented your case to your parents for joining us here in Toulouse.” Pons was surprised and curious how Arnaud had come by this information.
“As a matter of fact, Arnaud had a long conversation with your parents and your little sister Maurina. She is your biggest advocate and clearly adores you. Your meeting with Arnaud and Bertrand in Lavaur was not altogether accidental, but before we could enlighten you as to our plans, we needed to see how you would react once the idea of coming to Toulouse was broached.”
It was then that Pons realised the idea of coming to serve the Count had not been wholly his. He smiled to himself. How easily he had been manipulated. He had fallen for the plan hook, line and sinker! “Were my parents involved in this?”
“I am afraid they were, my son, and it does them immense credit that they were able to let you come to us, especially knowing
what we had in mind for you to do.”
“With respect, my Lord, isn’t it about time I was told why I am here? Everyone who matters to me seems to know, but I am still in the dark.”
“You are right,” replied the Count. “I await the arrival of my oldest son so that we can make our plans together. You and he will have an important role to play in the foreseeable future.” He broke off as the sound of heavy running feet reverberated up the stone steps of the tower.
“Excuse my lateness Papa. There was urgent business in the town that couldn’t wait.”
“We will talk of that later. My son, this is Pons, about whom I have already spoken to you. It was he you met in the courtyard the other day, the one I told you to watch out for. He brought with him the letter from Lavaur that I was waiting for. The news is becoming dire and we must form our plans now while it is relatively peaceful.” He gestured for the two young men to seat themselves at the table.
“I am going to disclose facts which you may never discuss outside of this room. You know that I have had to do penance for the death of the Pope’s Legate in order to lift the interdiction the Holy Father had laid upon Toulouse. For myself, my excommunication meant nothing, but I did not wish to see the many Catholic souls in my domain suffer. Therefore, I did what was required of me. You also know that I have publicly joined the Crusaders so that no one in my lands can be attacked. This is not a treacherous act that will hurt my Cathar subjects, for I will never raise a hand to hurt any one of them. I have sought to protect as many as I can in my county—Catholics, Jews, Moslems and Cathar alike. Your own mother, Alain, was a Cathar believer and I have many in my service. Holy Mother Church now believes I am a repentant son, and I will remain so as long as that devil de Montfort stays away from my domains.”
In spite of the many questions that sprang to their minds, both youths had remained silent while Raymond spoke.