A King's Ransom (55 page)

Joanna had not known she meant to speak up until she heard the words coming out of her mouth. “There is such a land, my lord cardinal, and it is blessed by God, not accursed.” Suddenly the focal point of all eyes, she took a deep breath before continuing. “In the kingdom of Sicily, the Christians who follow the Holy Father in Rome and those who follow the Patriarch in Constantinople live with Saracens and Jews, and whilst there are tensions and misunderstandings between them at times, there is rarely bloodshed. This is because they do live in such close proximity, enabling them to realize that one can be a good man even if he worships the wrong God.”

The cardinal seemed stunned to hear such words coming from a Christian queen. Berengaria grasped Joanna’s arm protectively, looking distressed. After a moment, the papal legate collected himself, deciding to ignore the Queen of Sicily’s bizarre outburst as an aberration; all knew women were prone to illogical behavior, even highborn ones. Instead, he turned his attention back to the man he saw as a real threat, for even if Raimond de St Gilles was not yet a heretic, he was dangerously susceptible to their blasphemous teachings, and one day he would rule all of Toulouse. Shaking his head as if more in sorrow than anger, he reminded Raimond that even the most devout Christian must remain vigilant, for he that bade a false prophet “Godspeed” was a partaker of the heretic’s evil deeds.

Much to his irritation, Raimond did not appear to be listening. He was watching Joanna, and he was smiling.

O
NCE
M
ARIAM WAS ABLE
to travel, they departed Narbonne for Carcassonne. Cardinal Melior was very unhappy about stopping there, for the Trencavel viscount was even more closely associated with the Cathars than Count Raimond and had been excommunicated twice, once for imprisoning the Bishop of Albi and once for failing to root out heresy in his lands. Viscount Roger’s health had been deteriorating in recent years and although he rose from his sickbed to greet his illustrious guests, he soon retreated back to his bedchamber, leaving it to his wife, Adelais, and his eight-year-old son, Raimond-Roger, to entertain them. Adelais was Raimond’s elder sister, a stunning, statuesque woman in her late thirties, and, like him, a patron of troubadours. Her son, a handsome, precocious child, obviously enjoyed playing host, and even the papal legate found himself smiling at the sight of the boy in his father’s seat at the high table, proudly presiding over the welcoming feast.

Carcassonne was much smaller than Narbonne, but with a formidable castle and equally formidable stone walls encircling the town. Its markets could not compare with those of Narbonne, but the women still enjoyed strolling its narrow streets, taking in the sights and marveling at the surprising number of cats sauntering about—sleek, well-fed creatures that, unlike felines elsewhere, seemed to be doted upon as pets, not just as mousers. They were having a pleasant outing until they noticed an elderly man garbed in black surrounded by an admiring crowd. He seemed to be blessing them, and the women exchanged curious glances. But when Anna and Alicia would have approached, they were stopped by Raimond, who said wryly, “The cardinal would have an apoplectic fit if I let you greet one of the Cathars’ ‘good men.’”

The girls came to an abrupt halt, staring in fearful fascination at the first heretic they’d ever seen; it was something of a letdown, for the Cathar priest looked more like a benevolent grandfather than a great enemy of the Church. They giggled when Raimond assured them that his cloven hooves were hidden by his long robe, but even Anna kept her distance. Berengaria asked, horrified, if all of those people were heretics, and was relieved when Raimond said that some of them were Believers, but others were simply showing respect to a man well regarded in the community. Her relief soon dissipated, though, as she realized how easily good Christians could be led astray, and she asked Raimond to escort them to a church so she could pray for their imperiled souls.

“Will you be praying for my soul, too, my lady?” he teased, but his smile vanished when she said she was already praying to the Almighty on his behalf, for she believed him to be a good man, albeit a very misguided one. Joanna, close enough to have caught this exchange, noted with amusement that for once, Raimond seemed at a loss for words. But he did as Berengaria requested and took them to the beautiful cathedral of St Nazaire, where they were welcomed by the bishop himself and Berengaria lit candles for her husband in Germany, her family in Navarre, Count Raimond, and those in danger of being seduced by the Cathar heresies.

T
HAT NIGHT THE TROUBADOURS
were to perform, but the castle was not yet astir with preparations for the evening’s entertainment. Joanna assumed the Lady Adelais was abovestairs with her ailing husband, and Raimond was not in the hall, either. Cardinal Melior was dictating a letter to the archdeacon, who also served as his scribe. Anna and Alicia were listening raptly as Mariam read aloud the story of the tragic lovers Tristan and Iseult. Sir Stephen de Turnham and the knights of Joanna and Berengaria’s household were passing the time with a dice game and Berengaria was playing chess with Raimond-Roger. He’d won the first game, much to his delight; it was obvious to Joanna that her sister-in-law was strongly drawn to Raimond’s young nephew, and as she watched them, she found herself thinking that Berengaria would be a good mother. She quickly added God willing, for they were all in His hands, and because the thought of children too often made her sad, she rose and left the hall, her dogs at her heels.

Summer lingered longer in these southern climes and the September sun was still warm on her face, the garden ablaze with fragrant, flame-colored blooms, the harvest sky above her head a brilliant shade of blue, even bluer than the eyes of Toulouse’s troublesome count. Once she found a bench, her dogs sprawled happily in the grassy mead, and she wished she could live in the moment as they did. If only she could keep her fears at bay long enough to enjoy the peace of Adelais’s garden without thinking of her brother and what horrors awaited him if he fell into the hands of the French king.

Unlike Eleanor and Berengaria, Joanna had met Philippe, three years ago in Sicily. He’d seemed smitten, had paid her so much attention that some thought he might seek to make her his queen. She’d known better; Philippe hated Richard too much to want to wed his sister. Nor would Richard ever have agreed to the match. She smiled, remembering how relieved Richard had been when she assured him that she had no wish to wed the French king. No crown in Christendom could have compensated for having to share a bed with Philippe.

Her dogs drew her back to the present then, running to welcome a man approaching the garden gate. She sat up straight on the bench, tensing as she watched Raimond de St Gilles enter and walk toward her. “May I?” he asked, waiting until she nodded before seating himself beside her on the bench. Ahmer and Star at once lay at his feet and she wondered how he’d managed to win them over, too. He was holding a single scarlet peony, which he now presented to her with a playful flourish. “I have been hoping for days to find you alone, Lady Joanna. I wanted to thank you.”

“You’ve no need to thank me, my lord count.”

“I disagree, my lady,” he said, with a smile. “Just between us, Archbishop Berenguer and Viscount Pedro have not shown much enthusiasm for ridding Narbonne of the Cathars. Yet neither one spoke up when I found myself backed against the cliff’s edge. You were the only one to throw me a rope.”

Joanna wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she remained silent. He reached down to scratch Ahmer’s chest and then surprised her by saying, “I hope your lord brother realizes that he has a pearl beyond price in his wife. Did you know she apologized for drawing the cardinal’s wrath down upon me? I assured her that he was already convinced I am halfway to Hell.”

“And are you? Halfway to Hell?”

“To hear him tell it, I am doomed and damned,” he said cheerfully. “I do not share his zeal for burning heretics at the stake. Jews have witnessed a few of my charters, which he sees as proof that I am unduly familiar with them. I much prefer the company of troubadours to clerics. I am more interested in repeating carnal sins than in repenting of them. And I do not believe the Almighty could have created a world of such surpassing beauty without wanting us to glory in it and in all of its earthly pleasures.”

“You’d have flourished in Sicily, Count Raimond.”

“Like the green bay tree?” he asked with a grin, showing her that, for a man suspected of heretical tendencies, he was familiar with Scriptures.

She shook her head, for she no longer believed that he was one of the wicked. She was not comfortable having him so close—close enough to see that he had lashes a woman might envy and a razor’s nick on his chin—but curiosity won out over caution, and she said, “Tell me about the Cathars.”

“Well, to be begin with, that is not a name they use. They call themselves Christians, for they believe that theirs is the true faith and the Church of Rome has fallen into the Devil’s clutches. I said they were gentle souls who rejected violence, but I never said they were diplomatic or tactful, and their names for the Roman Church include the Great Beast, the Whore of Babylon, the Church of Wolves, and my own favorite, the Harlot of the Apocalypse.”

Joanna winced at that. She’d heard the smile in his voice, but his humor would have been lost on the papal legate. She was beginning to realize that Raimond enjoyed poking a stick into hives, just as her brothers had always liked to do. “But what do they believe?”

“They believe that the material world is the work of the Devil and must be rejected. They think that Jesus was an angel, not the son of God, and it was but an illusion that he came before men in mortal form. That being so, he could not die, nor could he rise up again. The Virgin Mary is an angel, too, not a real woman. They worship our God, but whilst He is good, they say He is not omnipotent and the struggle with the Devil is unceasing. They think that human souls are those of fallen angels. They believe that we endure our Hell here on earth, and when I see the suffering we inflict upon one another, I am not always sure they are wrong about that.”

“Do they believe in Heaven?”

“Indeed, but only the ‘good Christians’ can get there. They believe in the transmigration of souls. A man who led a just life will be reincarnated into a body better suited for spiritual development. Whereas a man who’s done evil will regress, and may even be reborn as an animal. Those who accept this creed call themselves Believers, but few ask for the
Consolamentum
until they think death is near, for it is not easy to live like a ‘good Christian.’ Once a man or woman becomes one of their priests, they must reject all that they once held dear, even their families, for the Cathars see such earthly attachments as evil, entangling people in the life of the flesh, which will deny them salvation. They are forgiving of sinners, though, yet another way in which they differ from our Church.”

Joanna was glad that he spoke of “our Church,” for it was becoming very important to her that Raimond de St Gilles did not embrace a false faith that would put his immortal soul at risk. “I’ve heard the cardinal say the Cathars are wanton and dissolute, scorning marriage and encouraging people to commit the most shameful of carnal sins. Is that true—” She got no further, for Raimond had begun to laugh.

“I’ve always found it interesting that men who take holy vows of chastity are often the ones to become utterly obsessed with the carnal sins of others. I hate to deny them the pleasure they seem to take in imagining Cathar orgies and depraved revelries, but nothing could be further from the truth. The Cathar priests abhor sins of the flesh even more than our priests do. For them, carnal intercourse is the greatest sin as it can lead to procreation, dragging another heavenly soul down into the horrors of the material world.”

Raimond paused to pet one of the dogs when she nudged his leg. “Such a pity that the fear of heresy seems to turn even the most rational of men into raving lunatics. If Cardinal Melior would only consider the evidence dispassionately, he’d realize that I could not possibly be a Cathar, for that would mean abjuring all sins of the flesh.”