by Karen Ranney
“How do you know it’s still here?” she asked, looking around her.
His smile surprised her. “It is here, else Langlinais would not have been threatened. It looks as if they searched well, but they were doomed to failure. I only discovered the secret by good fortune.”
He walked to the far wall, counted across the large stones, then down. He pressed the second at the level of his waist. It turned easily as if it rested upon a fulcrum. Juliana peered inside and noticed the rod of iron that projected from the floor. It must fit into the hole at the base of the stone.
Sebastian disappeared behind the stone for a moment, then returned carrying a tightly woven covered basket. He smiled when he saw her face.
“Your eyes are as big as moons, Juliana.”
“I must confess to never seeing anything like a secret door,” she said.
“Come here and look closer.” She peered inside the small space. There was enough room for two people to stand.
“There is no duplicate to it in the other sleeping chambers. Perhaps this niche dated from the earlier fortress, and the Cathars simply took advantage of it in order to hide the treasure. It accomplished their purpose. It was here five years ago, and it’s here now.”
He placed the basket on the floor, then knelt in front of it. He opened the fastening of the lid gently, as he might handle a newborn babe. No, she thought, watching him. Not gentleness, but reverence. This, then, was the treasure of the Cathars. Not gold, not silver. But the contents of a basket that might be found in a peasant’s hut.
A shaft of sunlight created an aura around Sebastian as he lowered the lid to the floor. Neither of them spoke, the moment given up to an odd and eerie silence. Juliana could almost feel the absence of sound, as if the breeze stilled in that moment, or the birds that nested on Montvichet’s roof held their songs for the discovery.
She knelt opposite him, her left hand cradling her right. Her breath was constricted, her heart beat loudly and furiously. She suddenly did not know if she wished to learn what he would show her. What could be so precious that it would justify so many deaths, so much secrecy?
There was a folded cloth at the top of the basket. A scent of spices wafted from it as Sebastian gently placed it on top of the lid. Next, there were several small shards of wood, one of which crumbled in his fingers. He placed it beside the others, as reverently as he handled the other object. The scrolls, however, filled the majority of the basket. There appeared to be hundreds of them, packed upright so that they would not be crushed by the weight of the cloth or the wood.
“Of all the things I remember most about Magdalene, it was her quest for knowledge,” Sebastian said. He looked over at her. “You reminded me so much of her at first.”
“And now?” she asked, the treasure of the Cathars supplanted by another, more personal, mystery.
“Now, you are simply Juliana,” he said, smiling. He glanced down at the basket. “Magdalene was the one who taught me to value learning. While my father made my muscles strong, Magdalene worked upon my mind.” He placed his gauntleted palm upon the shards of wood and removed it a moment later as if conscious of her regard.
“The treasure of the Cathars is knowledge, first of all,” he said, touching the ends of the scrolls. “There are works here detailing all sorts of animals and plants along with the writings of great men.”
He looked down at the lid of the basket and the odd things he’d arranged there. He seemed reluctant to continue. The silence increased, so too the feeling that there was more here than she understood.
“But they were not fools,” he continued finally, “and they knew how much they were despised for their beliefs. So the Cathars took pains to protect themselves the best way they could. They sent their emissaries throughout the world to gather what they could find and bring it back here to Montvichet.”
He looked over at her, his face somber in the face of her confusion.
“They left behind a detailed reasoning behind their actions. You’ll find it among the later scrolls. They were being persecuted by the Church; therefore, it was against them the Cathars endeavored to protect themselves. They sought out what was sacred to the Church.”
She felt a mingled horror and joy to realize what lay before her.
“The relics of the faith,” she whispered. Her left hand reached out, trembled over the scraps of wood, the folded cloth redolent of rich spices. She wanted desperately to touch them, but was too afraid. She drew her hand back, stared at Sebastian wordlessly.
He nodded. “The true cross and the shroud. They held them as protection against persecution.”
“And this is why the Templars want them?” She frowned.
“No, because of power, Juliana,” he said. “Can you not imagine the power they could accumulate if they were guardians of the true cross and the shroud of Christ?”
“More than the Church?” she whispered.
His smile was an enigmatic expression flavored with mockery. “There are rumors even now that they intend to claim France. Their ambitions are as great as their wealth. Some would replace the Pope if for no other reason than to curb the Templars. You can be assured he does not know of their demands.”
“Yet you could not solicit the help of the Church, because of your disease.”
“True enough,” he said, placing the relics gently back into the basket.
“But what will happen now, Sebastian?”
“Now we give the Templars exactly what they expect.”
They returned to the scriptorium in silence, Sebastian carrying the basket. She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, the most important being how he could distrust the Templars so fervently and yet relinquish the treasure to them. It seemed a betrayal of everything the Cathars had died for, and Magdalene especially, since it was she who had summoned Sebastian to Montvichet.
What was Sebastian planning?
Sebastian remained silent as he placed the basket on the floor and retrieved the chest. He carefully opened it, then turned to watch her reaction.
Inside, nestled in a bed of hay, was a chalice. He picked it up carefully, holding it out for her to see. She was certain it was the most beautiful object she’d ever seen. It was not solid gold, but constructed with small windows of glass of a crimson hue so deeply tinted as to look almost purple. Upon the everted lip of the cup, and upon the stem, was a thin gold line that thickened to resemble a vine studded with thorns. On the bowl of the chalice was an etched figure of a man dressed in a long robe, his face bearded, his hands outstretched. Rays of the sun emanated from behind the man, from his wrists.
Inside the reliquary rested a small wooden cup.
She could feel her breath heat as Sebastian raised the chalice. The sunlight from above seemed to find the golden bowl, extend rays of crimson fire around the room.
“You’ve wondered what the Cathar treasure is, Juliana.” He lowered the chalice, returning it to its chest. “So, too, have the Templars. This chalice will satisfy their longing and assuage their curiosity.” He placed his hand atop the chalice. “Sangraal,” he said softly, his words nearly drowned beneath the tumult of her heart.
“The Holy Grail,” she whispered. “Is it truly?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “The reliquary was given to me by an old man, in exchange for a service I had done him. It was not long after I was released. He had been set upon by bandits, and I happened to be able to aid him.” He lowered the lid of the chest. “The journey home was a dangerous one for me. I had not wished to become involved, for fear my disease might be discovered. But he was no match for the four men who were intent upon robbing him.” He remembered that day well, and the fulsome gratitude of the merchant who’d insisted upon rewarding him.
His hand traced the carvings of the chest. “I think of it as a memento of my days in the Holy Land, something that helped remove the foul odor of the prison from my nostrils. I’d hoped to keep it at Langlinais, but now it goes to serve a greater purpose, t
o placate the Templars. Enough that they will not search further.”
He placed the chest beneath the table, then turned to Juliana.
“Did you think me capable of turning over the treasure to the Templars?”
“No. But I wondered at your plan.” His smile seemed to reward her honesty and her loyalty. “What will you do with it, Sebastian?”
“Send the treasure back to Langlinais with you.”
There, it had come then. The knowledge she’d suspected deep in her heart. The same knowledge she’d dreaded. His smile seemed infinitely sad, his eyes somber.
The words she spoke were difficult. The truth of their lives had been hurled at her so quickly that she could feel the pain of it lodged in her chest.
“Will you not return?”
He shook his head, his gaze never leaving her. “It is better if I do not.”
“What will you do, Sebastian? Where will you go?”
She wanted to know. She must know, as if that knowledge would somehow make this easier to bear.
“I will be what I am, Juliana.”
Leper.
He was doomed to wander aimlessly. People would not be kind to him, and even a knight needed a touch of gentleness from time to time. They would run from him, cautious because of his size, terrified because of what he represented. No one would touch him. No one touched him now, and here he stood, apart as he always had.
The Mass of Separation would be uttered over him. She’d had to transcribe it once, and the words seemed etched in the air before her.
I forbid you to ever enter the church or monastery, fair, mill, marketplace, or company of persons. I forbid you to ever leave your abode without your leper’s costume in order that one recognize you and that you never go barefoot. I forbid you to wash your hands or anything about you in the stream or in the fountain and to ever drink. I forbid you to touch anything you bargain for or buy until someone gives it to you. I forbid you to live with any woman not your own.
Not your own. But she was Sebastian’s own. She was his, but he would never be able to claim her. Sometimes, she thought he was about to touch her, reach out his hand and allow his finger to graze her cheek, or take her hand, or touch her shoulder. But he always withdrew, always clenched his hand into a fist and looked away.
“You could find sanctuary at Langlinais, Sebastian.” Her gaze met his. In her look were all the words she could not say to him, words forbidden by the very nature of his courage. But in her mind, she begged him to stay.
“You once planned to remain there,” she said, her voice trembling despite her resolve. “There would be no one to disturb your peace.”
“No, Juliana. Because to be with you would be to bring you danger.” His voice lowered until it was but a soft whisper, no more substantial than a hint of breeze. “Because to be with you would bring me anguish.”
His words rang with truth.
She looked down at the floor, shamed by her weakness. “I cannot bear this Sebastian, losing you. I thought myself brave enough. I truly did. But I find I am as much a coward as ever.” She glanced up at him, blinking back the tears. That much she could offer him.
“And I cannot ease your way, Juliana,” he tenderly said. “If I could, I would change the world for you. I would heal myself and come to you as a whole man. But those are dreams, Juliana, and we are not dreamers.” His tone was resolute, each word as strong and as brittle as if it had been chipped from stone. But his voice ended in a shuddering sigh, as if he’d done with courage. It was what stopped her from reaching for him.
“We are real, Juliana,” he said, his gaze never veering from her. Would he emblazon the memory of her on his lids as fervently as she did him? This moment was painful and stark, but it would be one of those that she recalled for the rest of her life. Because it was certain that he would not relent. The determination was there on his face, in his beautiful blue black eyes, in the firm set of his mouth.
“We are real,” he said again, “and the world is not as we would wish it to be.”
No. No, my dearest love, it is not.
But she said nothing as Sebastian left the room.
Chapter 31
Every night of their journey she had slept upon the ground surrounded by the circle of the men-at-arms. Sebastian had always remained within calling distance. A few days the gentle rains had soaked them and they’d sought shelter in more substantial places like a cave or a copse of trees. But for the most part, it had not been difficult to find rest.
Here at Montvichet where there was a chamber tidied for her use and a bed, she found it impossible to sleep. She could not even bring herself to lie down upon the thin straw mattress. Instead, she constantly thought about the people who had lived here. How had they borne grieving for those they loved?
She stood and donned her clothing, found her way in the darkness to the corridor and from there to the courtyard.
Sebastian turned at her approach. Moonlight streamed across the courtyard, well enough that she could see the horses at the farside, and between them, the sleeping figures of the men-at-arms. Even so, he held a kind of torch, a curved bowl that held a candle, and surrounding it, a piece of oiled parchment that magnified the light, diffusing it. She’d seen such a thing in a few of the illustrations in the books she copied, but never one in person.
She reached out her hand and touched the shade, her curiosity satisfied when she noted the small clips held the parchment safely away from the candle flame, at a curving angle. Only then did she glance up to catch his smile, echoed in the deep night of his eyes.
“Could you not sleep?”
She shook her head.
The horses moved restlessly at the farside. Someone murmured. A snore, a gurgle, a cough, they were all normal sounds to her after weeks of traveling with these men. She knew a few of their names and a few details about their lives. Who had once been on crusade, who had served Sebastian’s father, the location of a sweetheart, the number of children, the details about a person’s life that is shared with another.
She stepped forward, looked down into the darkness. Instead of the moon-shadowed landscape, it seemed the valley was afire with torches. Small dots of light surrounded a larger encampment.
“They were faster than I anticipated,” Sebastian said, not turning his eyes from the scene.
“Who are they?”
“Templars.” He turned his back on them, faced the courtyard. “Who else?”
“What will they do, Sebastian?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’ve no doubt they wish to challenge us. They know our strength and know we are no match for their numbers.”
“But we have done nothing that they should wish to challenge us, Sebastian.”
His smile was oddly lit by the oil lamp. “It is not necessary to be innocent. Only to stand between the Templars and something they want.”
The torches seemed to wink at her. “Will they besiege Montvichet again?”
He tilted his head back and looked at the sky. It was a harvest moon, yellow and bright. “I doubt it. It could not withstand another. They have only to ride through the open gates.”
“Then what shall we do, Sebastian?”
“Wait until morning. It is all we can do.”
“How long do you think it took them to build this place?” Juliana looked around her at the darkened fortress. She sat on the stone floor, her back against the wall. Sebastian sat beside her. Night was full upon them, the glittering stars like tiny eyes winking above, the air perfumed with a slight breeze that carried the scent of pine.
“It depends upon whom you mean,” Sebastian said. “I think the Romans came first, or perhaps built their fortress upon another earlier structure.”
“Have people always looked for protection, then?”
“In one form or another.” His voice was low, sounded like muted thunder. It had entranced her from the beginning.
She bit into a piece of cheese. “This is very good, isn’
t it?”
“Very good,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“The convent had a goat, but we did not make cheese. The abbess thought it a luxury we could do without.”
“She sounds like a very practical woman.”
“She was.”
Silence while Juliana tried to think of another topic of conversation. She’d never had difficulty speaking to him before, but this solemn night was different. There was a paucity of subjects that did not touch, in some way, upon their lives. They had already said all that could be said about futures. His was immutable. Neither her wishes nor hopes could alter it. She could beg him to take her with him, but such words would only mar their parting; they would not sway Sebastian. So she spoke to him of the mundane, simple questions passed between casual acquaintances. All the while wishing to ask those that could not be voiced. Why and how and where, but most importantly, when was he leaving her?
“How do you think they brought the timbers here?”
He tilted his head back as if to count the beams that supported the roof of the sleeping chambers. “I suspect they carried them by wagon. Or perhaps they simply dragged them.”
She yawned, an unexpected gesture. Sebastian turned to her in the darkness.
“You should sleep, Juliana.”
She had fought off sleep all night, wishing to pass these hours until dawn beside him. Each moment they shared was like a precious bead collected and strung on a cord. But the silence conspired against her, along with the weariness of the journey.
She laid her head back against the stone, savoring the closeness of him. They sat merely a handbreadth apart. Too soon, she felt herself sliding into sleep. His voice spoke to her, a soft whisper of words. “Sleep, Juliana. I’ll be here beside you.” Permission and protection, all in one.
Dreams haunted her. Not those of the long-dead inhabitants of Montvichet, or of the Templars waiting in the valley for the dawn she dreaded. They were of Sebastian, his words and smiles and laughter. His hands touched her, his lips met hers in a kiss that scorched as it healed. Intellige clamoren meum. My fingers would make your blood leap. She awakened to her own soft cry. A sound of yearning.