A King's Ransom (54 page)

J
OANNA AND
B
ERENGARIA HOPED
to be able to depart Narbonne by the week’s end, but then Mariam suffered a mishap on an excursion with Raimond to visit the suburb across the river known as the Bourg. Joanna had declined to accompany them, then found herself watching from a palace window as they headed toward the old Roman bridge. They were back sooner than she’d expected, the women fluttering about like brightly colored butterflies and Mariam’s face white with pain as Raimond carried her into the palace and then up the stairs to the bedchamber she was sharing with Joanna. Mariam insisted they were all making much ado over nothing, but once Joanna shooed the others from the chamber, she saw that the ankle was badly swollen.

She’d fallen, Berengaria explained, whilst they were strolling through the market and a shoat escaped its pen, creating a panic. Mariam had twisted her ankle as she pulled Anna out of harm’s way. But Count Raimond had taken charge, Berengaria assured Joanna, stopping the crowd from beating the pig’s owner, a country youth overwhelmed by his misfortune, and offering a reward to the one who recaptured the runaway swine. Since they’d not taken their horses in the crowded city streets, he’d carried Mariam back to the palace, much to Anna and Alicia’s envy. With a smile, Berengaria predicted that Anna was likely to have a mishap of her own the next time they were out and about in the city, claiming she could not walk so the count must carry her, too.

Joanna had to laugh at that, for she could easily see Anna pulling such a stunt. She thought Mariam’s ankle was sprained, a diagnosis confirmed by the viscount’s physician. He ordered her to stay off her feet for a few days and Mariam, still protesting she was fine, reluctantly drank the potion of herbs provided by a local apothecary, finally falling into a fitful doze. Joanna had sat with her all afternoon, but once she was sure Mariam was sleeping, she joined the others in the great hall.

Archbishop Berenguer of Narbonne was in a serious discussion with Cardinal Melior and Viscount Pedro, while across the hall, Raimond was joking with the troubadours Raimon de Miraval and Peire Vidal, who’d decided to accompany them as far as Carcassonne. They’d promised to perform that evening, and Joanna was sorry that Mariam would have to miss it. Spotting Berengaria and Beatrix seated in a window-seat, she headed in their direction. Richard’s queen was working on a delicate embroidery; she was a fine needlewoman and had tried to improve Joanna’s skill during their time in the Holy Land, to no avail. Under Berengaria’s patient tutelage, Joanna had been able to recall the
lenga romana
of Aquitaine and Navarre, for she’d lost much of it while living in Sicily. But she still wielded a needle as if it were a weapon, Berengaria gently chided, finally agreeing that needlework would never be one of Joanna’s talents.

Looking up with a smile, Berengaria was pleased to hear that Mariam was sleeping. “Count Raimond sent one of his men to the new market for fruit to tempt Mariam’s appetite. He truly seems concerned on her behalf.” She paused and then said pensively, “I know the cardinal says he is a wicked sinner, but . . . I am no longer so sure of that. He has a good heart, Joanna.”

“A veritable saint,” Joanna scoffed, for she did not want to listen as Berengaria extolled the count’s manifold virtues; it was bad enough that Mariam insisted upon singing that song.

“No, he is not a saint.” Joanna was never sure if Berengaria was truly oblivious to sarcasm or simply chose to ignore it. “I am saying I do not believe he is a sinner beyond redemption. I’ve seen too many examples of his kindness. He never passes a beggar on the street without giving alms. He offered a greeting and a coin to that poor leper we encountered on the road from Béziers, when the rest of us averted our eyes. Whenever he is recognized, people flock to him, and he is always courteous even with the least of them. He says Emperor Heinrich was wrong to hold Richard captive and he sounds sincere. He was willing to take us to the old market yesterday to buy some of the scarlet silks that Narbonne is famous for, and whilst we were there, we saw two louts tossing a kitten up into the air as if it were a camp ball. It was such needless cruelty that I decided to ask the count to put a stop to it. But I did not have to ask, Joanna. He noticed on his own; how many men would have done that? Mayhap if a dog were being beaten, but who pays attention if it is a cat being maltreated? He did, though. When I thanked him, he just laughed and made light of it, but it was a kind act.”

“So he is good to beggars and lepers and stray cats,” Joanna said, knowing she sounded petty, but unable to help herself. “That hardly gives him a safe conduct into Heaven.”

“He is kind to children, too. Did you see what happened when we arrived in Narbonne? Remember how all those boys ran alongside him, shouting, “Count Raimond!” the way they always do for Richard? He laughed and tossed coins to them. But one little lad, younger than the others, had been unable to keep up, and he’d stumbled and fallen. He was sitting there in the street, crying, when the count glanced back and saw his plight. Joanna, he turned his stallion around and, reaching down, he pulled the boy up behind him. You should have seen that child’s face. He’ll never forget the day he rode with Count Raimond through the city streets to the palace, and the other boys will not, either.”

Joanna had seen Raimond go back for the little boy, but hadn’t understood why. She was sorry now that she did, for it was so much easier to dislike the man if his good deeds were not being called to her attention daily by Mariam and Berengaria. “Tell me this, then,” she said, with such unwonted sharpness that both Berengaria and Beatrix blinked in surprise. “If he truly has such a good heart, how is it that he is so tempted by heresy?”

Berengaria’s gaze wavered and color rose in her face. She looked so unhappy at being caught defending a heretic that Joanna felt a stab of remorse. But before she could make amends, her sister-in-law put aside her sewing and rose to her feet. “That is indeed a valid question,” she said, “and it is one I shall put to the count. If I have been led astray by his good manners and my wish to believe the best of others, better I know it now.”

As they stared at her, she turned and started across the hall toward Raimond. When Beatrix asked if she’d really do that, Joanna jumped to her feet. “I do not know,” she admitted, “but I want to hear what he says if she does.” And she hastened after Berengaria, with Beatrix just a few steps behind her.

As Berengaria approached, Raimond broke away from the troubadours and moved to meet her, a smile lighting his face. The smile disappeared as soon as she began to speak, though. For a moment, he looked utterly astonished, but he burst out laughing just as Joanna reached them. Those blue-sky eyes caught and held Joanna’s green ones, and again she had the uneasy sense that he knew exactly why she was so aloof, occasionally even rude. He turned back then to Berengaria, saying with sudden earnestness, “I’ve often been asked this and I’ve always given the same answer. No, I am not a Cathar. Cardinal Melior does not believe me. I hope that you will, my lady.”

Berengaria’s dark eyes searched his face intently. “I want to believe you. But I do not understand why you are so tolerant of these ungodly, wicked men. Can you explain that to me, my lord count?”

“They are neither ungodly nor wicked, my lady. The Church calls their priests the
perfecti
, but they call themselves the ‘good men’ or ‘good Christians,’ for that is how they see themselves. They are greatly respected for the purity of their lives, even by those who are not Believers. They live like the early Church fathers, scorning possessions or material goods, renouncing carnal desires, seeking only to honor God and help their neighbors. They never lie and they forswear all violence, will not even kill animals. I’ve never met more peaceful souls in all my born days. I do not agree with their beliefs. But I do not see why they should burn for those beliefs. They harm no one but themselves, sacrificing their own chances of salvation, and surely that is punishment enough.”

Neither Raimond nor Berengaria had noticed that others had begun to drift over, close enough to hear. They regarded each other somberly, two people yearning to bridge the great gap that loomed between them. “But those beliefs are wrong, my lord count,” she said, although not in accusation; she sounded sad. “They are offensive to God. Can you not see that? See the danger they pose?”

“I was told that your lord husband befriended Saracens in the Holy Land, my lady. Yet I am sure you do not doubt the strength of his Christian faith or think he was tempted by their false God. He understood that even infidels can be men of honor. Is that so different from what I do?”

“Yes . . . because the Saracens were infidels. They were not heretics. The threat posed by the Saracens was a military one. They captured the Holy City of Jerusalem, but they could not imperil the souls of the Christians they defeated. Heretics are so much more dangerous, for they are the enemy who attacks from within. Why can you not see that, my lord count?”

“Because he has been infected by their foul heresies, Madame.”

Both Raimond and Berengaria whirled at the sound of this cold, hostile voice. Cardinal Melior, the archbishop, and the viscount had joined the growing audience, and the cardinal pushed forward now until he stood beside Berengaria. “Even if he has not openly embraced these heresies, they have seeped into his soul, warping his judgment and eroding his faith.”

For the first time, Joanna saw Raimond show anger, his eyes darkening as he stared defiantly at the papal legate. “Have you never wondered, my lord cardinal, why the preaching of the Cathars is so well received in these southern lands? The people see their priests taking hearth mates and concubines, see their bishops engaging in petty squabbles and using excommunication as a political weapon, see a Church as infected by corruption as you claim we are infected by heresy. Mayhap if you worried less about the ‘foxes in the vineyard’ and more about caring for Christ’s poor, the men and women of Toulouse would not find the pure lives of the Cathar priests so surprising or so appealing.”

“I do not deny there are village priests who are poorly schooled and ignorant of Latin, or bishops who neglect their spiritual duties by failing to visit their dioceses. But the Holy Church is all that stands between Christians and the triumph of evil. When these Albigensian heretics claim that salvation can be gained only through their teachings, they are committing the worst sort of blasphemy. Even more unforgivable, they are damning forever the souls of the deluded people who have been seduced by their heresy. And for that, I blame men like you, my lord count, for yours could be a voice for righteousness. Instead, you hold your peace whilst these false prophets tempt the unwary and the foolish into apostasy.”

Joanna had known that Cardinal Melior was an eloquent speaker; she saw now that he also possessed a lawyer’s skills, cleverly defanging Raimond’s accusations of Church corruption by admitting there was some truth to them. She could see that Raimond realized he was being outmaneuvered, for he tried to return to his original argument. “My people do not see the Cathar ‘good men’ as evil, my lord cardinal. They cause no trouble in Toulouse, do not go brawling and drinking in the taverns. They never accost women in the streets or steal or lie, and they turn away wrath with a soft word. They seek only to preach to those who want to listen—”

“And what do they preach, my lord count? They deny the Incarnation and the Resurrection, deny that Jesus is the Son of God, born of the Blessed Virgin. They blaspheme that the Church of Rome is the Devil’s church. They teach that men may be saved only by receiving the rite they call the
Consolamentum
, and they even allow women to give this rite.”

The cardinal paused dramatically to allow his audience time to consider the awful wickedness of such beliefs. “I do not doubt that the
perfecti
are as soft-spoken and amiable as you claim. That is how the Devil seeks to deceive the faithful. Scriptures warn,
Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.
You mock Holy Church’s concern with foxes, whilst you let wolves loose to prey upon the innocent. How do you defend that?”

“I do not share the Cathar beliefs, my lord cardinal. But I do not see their beliefs as truly dangerous to the Church. The Cathar priests are few in number and they do not preach rebellion. By persecuting them, you give them greater importance than they’d otherwise have. Would it not be better for the Church to combat such heresies by putting its own House in order? If there were no lecherous priests or corrupt bishops, the preaching of the Cathars would fall upon deaf ears.”

Cardinal Melior was momentarily rendered speechless by Raimond’s argument, so alien was it to the teachings of his Church. He regarded the younger man in genuine bafflement, for who but a madman could believe that heresy ought to be tolerated? “Scriptures speak quite clearly, leaving no room for misunderstanding, telling us that
By sword and famine shall those false prophets be consumed.
What you suggest, my lord count, is not only blasphemous, but it would lead to ruination and damnation. A land where Christians must live side by side with heretics and infidels would be truly accursed.”