The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil

by Bell, Gradyn

  Chapter Twenty One

  Occitania, South of France,

  Winter 1210 AD - Spring 1211 AD

  Arnaud, Pons and Maurina

  The trek to Montsegur was difficult as winter approached. There was snow on the mountaintops, and the many mountain streams that had to be crossed were already frozen at the edges. The route that Arnaud, Pons and Maurina had been obliged to take had brought them worryingly close to the action at Puivert. Whereas Arnaud had thought it possible to take some rest in the small village below the chateau, he quickly reconsidered this idea when Pons pointed out that some of the soldiers there might recognise him.

  Although Maurina had made a valiant attempt to keep up with the two men, it was her blistered and swollen feet that finally made them call a halt in their great rush to reach Montsegur safely with the linen. They were obliged to take shelter in a rundown hovel that had been abandoned by its former shepherd owner.

  Arnaud treated Maurina’s burning feet with a soothing paste made of wild amaranth flowers. Then, while she rested comfortably, he attempted to coax some life into the wet faggots of wood that Pons gathered. They were soaked having lain scattered about the mountainside since the last wintry storm. He had collected enough wood to last through the night, and after several attempts, a fire of sorts was eventually lit—although it gave out more smoke than heat. Water collected from a raging torrent, which, in summer would have been a gurgling mountain stream, soon produced enough boiling water to make a vegetable soup. By the time they had finished eating, the small room was appreciably warmer and Maurina’s eyes began to close.

  Arnaud pushed the sack containing the linen towards the girl. “Here, you might as well use this for a pillow. It still has the herbs in it and you may as well make yourself as comfortable as possible. We should press on tomorrow. Apart from other dangers, the sky looks threatening to me and I shouldn’t wonder if it snowed at this level soon.” He sniffed the air as though the forthcoming snow might have a scent of its own.

  Just after daybreak the next day, they were woken by the sound of voices coming up the track near their makeshift shelter. Arnaud quickly bundled the sack containing the linen into one of the packs they were carrying and warned Maurina to say nothing. He and Pons went outside to meet the strangers. They were glad to see there were only two of them and that they were afoot. They had been dreading the appearance of some of de Montforts plundering routiers and were relieved to see their visitors were two young men, one of them younger than Pons, both of them dressed in country homespun.

  “Bonjorn!” The cheerful greeting called out in their native Oc served to allay the small group’s fears that these two might be spies for de Montfort.

  “I am travelling from Montsegur,” the younger one said, shivering, “but the road is lonely and we are having difficulty finding shelter. We have been walking all night, afraid to stop in these mountains. We have been told the wolves are particularly hungry at this time of year!”

  “Come inside. I am afraid we have little food to offer, but the fire is still alight and it’s warmer inside than out.”

  Gratefully, the two young men entered the hovel, rubbing their hands as they knelt by the now dying embers of the fire. Maurina made to stand up awkwardly, her feet still very painful. The newcomers noticed her for the first time and the younger one of the two moved from the fire to help her.

  “This is my daughter,” Arnaud said. “And this is her brother.” He did not elaborate on the relationship, believing that to do so might complicate matters. “Her mother thinks she will be safer with her uncle in Merens than here near the fighting. We are travelling there before winter arrives.”

  “I am Paul Maulen. This is my friend Guy. We met a few miles back and decided to walk together over the mountains. Where have you come from?” As he spoke, the elder of the two newcomers looked at Pons curiously.

  “We live in Lavaur and we’ve been travelling for nearly three weeks. We cannot travel fast because of my young sister here.”

  “I know you!” the elder newcomer exclaimed. “I met you once near Fanjeaux. What happened to you? You disappeared so quickly we thought you were dead!”

  Pons felt his stomach turn. What he had dreaded most on this journey—beyond even the fears of wolves and bears—had indeed transpired. He had bumped into one of the soldiers he had met on his first mission for the Count of Toulouse. “I went to see my family.” The excuse sounded lame, even to Pons himself.

  “Ha!” the young man said with a sly wink. “We thought you had a paramour hidden away somewhere, if you know what I mean!”

  Pons knew only too well what he meant. All the soldiers he had been with had been convinced he was a sodomite because he never made use of any of the camp followers, wouldn’t join the army and had kept strictly to himself. Being unable to explain why he did not take part in the roistering to his soldier companions had made his life difficult. However, he had been happy to let them to think what they wanted; it had taken some of the pressure off his mission and allowed him some peace. Now what would he say? How would he explain his sudden disappearance? He hadn’t said so much as a goodbye, and they had been a good crowd of men!

  It was Arnaud who saved him from more explanations. “We must leave soon,” he said. “I don’t want to waste any daylight, and I think we’re due some heavy weather.”

  The younger of the two men spoke again. “I must get back to Puivert. My family is waiting for me close by. They wish to be away from there and all the fighting.”

  Guy mentally crossed himself as he heard his mouth spout the lies he had been accustomed to telling since he had begun his father’s quest for information regarding the fabled linen cloth. His visit to Montsegur in search of information had been a dismal failure. He could find no one who had even heard of it—at least that’s what they all said.

  He had discovered that the place below the fortress was a thriving village with many artisans building new cottages on the mountainside. He knew that many of the people were believers and that in all probability, a goodly proportion of them were perfecti. He found them to be a hard-working lot; even the winter weather did not dim their enthusiasm for the tasks at hand. In order for him to earn his bed and board, they suggested he join them in a little carpentry, and they had laughed good-naturedly at his ineptness. When some of them viewed his smooth hands with suspicion, he lied, saying his parents had wanted him to enter the church but he had declined!

  Paul moved towards the sack containing the precious linen. “Here, let me help you with that. It looks very heavy, and although we are going in opposite directions, I can at least help you down the mountain a little way.” In spite of Arnaud’s objections, he heaved the sack over his shoulder and went outside.

  It took the others only a moment to gather the rest of their things and join the young men outside. As they set off down the mountain trail, Maurina was still walking with difficulty. The thin layer of frost blanketing the sparse grass was very slippery, and it was only a matter of a few minutes before she lost her balance and her feet slid out from beneath her. With a scream, she began to slide down the rocky slope. It was Guy who rescued her, catching her skirt as she slid past him, but her weight pulled him over too, and they tumbled together until their headlong flight was halted by a boulder. It took the others several minutes to catch up with them, picking their way carefully over the frozen track.

  By the time the other three arrived, Guy and Maurina had both managed to catch their breath and were beginning to untangle themselves. Guy stood up and held out his hand to Maurina, who struggled to arrange her skirt that had ridden up over her thighs, and adjust her bodice, which had become entangled with her father’s carving.

  “That’s a very fine carving you are wearing,” Guy said, holding out his hand to look at the little ornament more closely.

  “My father carved it for me when I was a baby and I have worn it ever since. Do you see how shiny the wood has become?” She pointed to it proudly. “
I would never give it up willingly,” she said.

  Guy smiled. As used as he was to many fine things in his life, he could only remember being that proud of one thing: the suit of armour that his father had had made for Amaury, which Amaury had passed to him. That was several years ago, but he clearly remembered the excitement he had felt when Amaury had given it to him on Bernard’s estate. His face clouded over with the thought that his father’s friend was currently his father’s enemy. He wondered if he would ever see Petronille, Bernard’s daughter, again in this life.

  Reaching the end of the track that joined the road, the two groups made their goodbyes, anxious to be underway before the weather broke.

  “Here’s your sack,” said Paul cheerfully as he handed it to Pons. “Don’t know what’s in it, but it’s mighty heavy!”

  Pons took the sack without saying anything. Arnaud broke the silence by telling the friendly young man that it contained supplies for Maurina’s uncle and aunt.

  “Well, God be with you.” The farewell was cheerfully given by the younger man, who smiled as he warned Maurina not to break her neck before she arrived at her uncle’s and to take care of her little carving.

  It wasn’t until they had travelled a mile or so that Arnaud breathed a sigh of relief. The other two had kept their silence when they realised the older man had been praying. “That was a close call,” he said, after making peace with his God for the deceit and lies he had been obliged to tell. “I cannot imagine what those two young men were doing at Montsegur. They were certainly not believers, but who else would make this journey at this time of year, and for what purpose?”

  “Only the younger one said he was at Montsegur. Don’t you remember? They had met just on the other side of the mountains, a few miles back, before they arrived at the hut. He didn’t actually give any reason for being out in the wilds. Did you notice?”

  “Yes, and he spoke our language well, but I couldn’t place where he came from in Occitania, could you? He spoke rather too well to be a tradesman or a clerk. So who was he?”

  “Whoever he was, he was very kind,” said Maurina. “I liked him very much. He had very gentle ways. Didn’t you see how he helped me up in the hut when he saw the trouble I had getting to my feet? And didn’t you notice how often he said ‘thank you’?”

  The others agreed with her. Pons, in particular, noticed his little sister’s perceptiveness.

  “What if he isn’t what he pretends to be?” Arnaud asked anxiously.

  “What did he pretend to be?” Maurina wanted to know.

  “Well, just a youth travelling.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” she persisted.

  “Very unlikely in these times,” Arnaud replied. “Most able-bodied young men are kept at home to help protect the animals and the crops. The routiers who scour the countryside take whatever they please, whenever they please, and de Montfort’s soldiers aren’t too particular either!”

  “Do you think he’s a spy?” Maurina asked.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out when we get to Montsegur,” Arnaud replied, quickening his pace. “We should be there within the week if the weather holds; the closer we get the more brethren we are likely to encounter and we’ll see what we can find out then.”

  They met few people on the rest of the journey. Except for one night, when they were obliged to take shelter under a formation of rocks, they found comfortable enough accommodation with other believers—mostly shepherds who were bringing their sheep to lower pastures and sheep folds for the winter.

  Their arrival in Montsegur went almost unremarked. The villagers, and indeed the perfecti, were well used to strangers coming and going from the mountain fortress. Only old Brother Benoit, whom Arnaud had met on his first trip to Montsegur when the Knights Templar had first brought the linen, recognised him. They were welcomed into his old, cave-like quarters, no more comfortable now than they had been on Arnaud’s previous visit. The stone walls were still damp and the small fire gave little comfort, but the three travellers were relieved to divest themselves at last of not only the physical weight of the linen but also the huge worry that its protection had cost them.

  Benoit took Arnaud up to the top of the fortress to show him where the linen would rest. The niche had been lined with cedar wood and silk and was well hidden. It would be bricked up when the linen was in place and a carving of a dove would mark one of the stones on the wall. Only a very few people, including Esclarmonde and Bertrand Arsen, knew where the hiding place had been constructed. No more than a dozen out of thousands would be told—for the relic’s, as well as for their own, safety.

  Their task done, the trio made ready to return to Lavaur, happily secure in the knowledge that no harm could now befall the precious burden. Although their mood was lightened by the realisation that the linen was safely ensconced in the niche, it was soon darkened by the sight of the countryside through which they were passing, for it had changed greatly since their outward journey. They were saddened to see that where vines had once grown there were now only blackened roots. There were no cows to be seen, and no byres for their shelter were left standing. De Montfort’s army had moved in with a vengeance.

  They were able to avoid many of the towns where the destruction was complete. As they got closer to home, they began to encounter people burdened with possessions, fleeing while they could to the safety of Lavaur. The town had always welcomed refugee believers who had managed to escape de Montfort’s previous predations. Dame Girauda de Laurac, the chatelaine of the castle there, was a noted perfecta; her religious zeal was such that anyone could depend on her help, be they Catholic or Cathar and her reputation had spread far and wide. At any one time, the elders in the town might number up to four hundred, whilst the believers themselves could be counted above a thousand.

  The news that Arnaud garnered from the displaced population was not good. Since they had left Lavaur last autumn, many towns had fallen to the Crusaders. At the beginning of the month (it was now March), Pierre-Roger de Cabaret, an ally of the Count of Toulouse, had surrendered his three chateaux of Lastours to the Devil in return for other property near Beziers. Before he had surrendered, he ensured all the believers he had sheltered in his castles had made good their escape.

  Why de Cabaret had surrendered without a fight was difficult to understand. He had held virtually impregnable fortifications and also had as his prisoner Bouchard de Marly, one of Simon’s best friends and his most trusted lieutenant. Perhaps he had learned the lesson of Termes and Minerve. Needless to say, Simon was delighted by this turn of events. He had lost not even one man, had gained a valuable foothold from which to launch his next foray and had recovered one of his best fighters, all in one swoop!

  Arnaud and the two young Boutarras’ safe return to Lavaur was cause for celebration, although Arnaud did not stay long at the welcome. He had official business to attend to, and took his leave to find Bertrand Arsen. His goodbye to Maurina was touching, though he held back from too great a show of emotion. He was well pleased with the manner in which the kindly couple had raised his daughter. She was a curious mix of child and woman, and it was already obvious that she had no shortage of courage. Several times he had silently prayed she would never need to demonstrate this facet of her character. However, with the current situation, he knew this was a forlorn hope. He could only pray that God would guard her until she came to a good end.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Occitania, South of France

  May 1211 AD

  Conflagration at Lavaur

  The noise was deafening. Maurina fervently wished she had stayed in bed that morning instead of rising with the sun to see for herself what the besiegers were doing. They had been pounding the walls of Lavaur for over a month—since just after she, Pons and Arnaud had returned from Montsegur. What she had seen on the way back from that trip had left her with few illusions about what would happen to her town should the defences fail.

  From where she
was crouched she could see the soldiers as they went about the business of destroying her town. Trying to make herself less visible, she could feel the edges of the roughly-made bricks pressing into her back. It was a sturdy wall, but unlike many towns’ defences, it was not made of heavy granite. Laver’s main defence was the swift-running Agout that flowed in a ravine far below, and it would take skilful invaders to breech the wall high above that.

  From her hiding place, Maurina could just make out some of the soldiers who wished to destroy her life. This was the closest she had ever come to these Soldiers of Christ, de Montfort’s men who called themselves Christians because they were doing God’s work. As she well knew, they were not true Christians, even though they wore red crosses embroidered on their surcoats to indicate they were here at the Holy Father’s request.

  She was finding it difficult to understand how these men, who had taken an oath of chivalry and who thought of themselves as more Christian than her family and friends, could perpetrate such cruelty on a population that wished only to live and worship in peace. Pierre had attempted to explain to her that the men had been told they were coming to fight a dangerous enemy, a heresy that was spreading like a loathsome disease throughout her part of the country—a disease that must be halted in its tracks!