My Beloved (22 page)

M
inutes passed, and still Sebastian did not return. It was as if the ground had swallowed him whole. Juliana retrieved the Templar document, then walked to the edge of the pit. There was not even a dot of light to illuminate the steps. She called out his name once, and had been answered with a faint response, but the nature of it she could not decipher. It was enough to know he was well.

Nothing remained of the bridge that crossed the gorge. Not ashes, not embers. Not even a trailing bit of rope. Everything had fallen into the chasm. Juliana stood at the gateway and measured the distance to the other side of the mountain, then wondered why she took the time to do so. She could not hold a rope and it was absurd to think of jumping it.

She retreated to the scriptorium, her attention caught by the basket of relics below the table. Should she take them back to their hiding place? How odd that the basket looked like a thousand others, equally as innocent and innocuous, yet she knew now that the Templars would kill for such symbols of faith. Yet, if it was truly faith, why would they require such proof?

Sebastian had said nothing to her after she'd
kissed him. Only bargained for her life by giving all that he had. Yet, when the Templars left, not one word did they exchange, not one look. It was as if she had no longer existed.

Slowly she began to unwind the bandages that bound her fingers. In moments, she'd had them exposed to the sun streaming through the small ceiling windows. This morning, she'd begun to bathe them, and instead of discomfort, she'd only felt relief from the eternal itching. It was as if her hands healed while her heart was breaking. She discovered that the more she moved her fingers, the easier it became. Therefore, she didn't see the point in replacing the linen wrapping again.

A noise alerted her. Sebastian stood there. He wore the leper's uniform still, but his face was damp with moisture, his hair wet. His face was set into stern lines.

“I wish you had remained timid, Juliana,” he said. “Yet, you have decided to become an opponent as daunting as any I've met on a battlefield. Beneath your trembles rests a will of iron, however misguided it may be. You challenge fate and sneer at Templars and declare yourself a leper with equal belief in your impunity.”

She laid her hands, one upon the other, at her waist so that they did not betray her by trembling. “Life is sometimes perilous, Sebastian. May I not choose how I am to live mine?”

“You might have lived in peace at Langlinais.”

She shook her head. “For what reason would I have held your estate, Sebastian? For whom would I have guarded it? Our child?”

“For yourself, Juliana. For your own peace and happiness.”

“I will not be happy without you, Sebastian.” She tilted her chin up.

“You will have to learn to be, Juliana.”

“We shared our breaths, Sebastian. I kissed you.”

“Do you think I do not remember?”

If he had been standing close, she thought she might have felt the heat of his rage, it seemed to burn so hot. Gone was the man with understanding and compassion in his gaze, the warrior with sorrow in his eyes. This was the avenging angel, who held an arrow that flashed lightning in his hand.

“I will see you free of this place, Juliana. I will see you whole and living and filled with life. I will not watch you die in front of my eyes. Once before you touched me, and we are only fortunate that nothing came of that. But this time, you pushed too far, you dared too much. Despite what you wish and what you do, I will not let this touch you. This is my vow.”

She did not speak, simply went to him. Her hands, bare and unadorned, reached for his. It was not until she touched him that she realized he wore no gloves.

Their eyes met.

He slowly pulled his hand away.

“I will not let you be a martyr, Juliana.”

“Do not forswear me, Sebastian. Do not send me away or cast me out. I did what I had to do because I do not choose to leave you.”

She could battle against ignorance by writing the words of great thinkers, by adding to the store of the world's knowledge. But she could not fight Sebastian's will. That stood between them, a bulwark against any pleas she might utter.

“That was never your choice to make, Juliana.”

He stepped back and left the room without saying another word.

 

Jerard swore as Faeren tried to take a bite out of his rump.

“It's your good fortune that my lord holds you in affection,” he said, glaring at the horse. His own mount, of a more even temper, looked up almost in amusement. He'd tied them both too close, but he waited for Templar treachery and wanted to be able to escape quickly.

He had returned to Montvichet as Gregory had taunted, but he did not attempt to find a way over the gorge. Even if he could have constructed some means across, he doubted Lady Juliana could have used it. Instead, he'd come to the tunnel he and Sebastian had discovered, and began to clear it of the rocks and stones that blocked it.

He'd not expected to be released. Why had Gregory done so? At first, he'd thought it was because the Templar regretted leaving his brother marooned atop Montvichet. Then, Jerard had realized that it was simply better for Gregory to dispose of witnesses to his actions. One way had been to kill them. The easiest way, however, had been to send them home to England. Every one of his fellow men-at-arms must have done exactly that. They had disappeared like the morning mist. And they would lose no time telling the people of Langlinais what fate their lord suffered.

The future Jerard had once feared was here.

He would forever remember that moment when Lady Juliana had looked at him as if he betrayed her. He'd wanted to ask for her forgiveness, but his first loyalty had always, would always, be to Sebastian. Still, he recognized courage when he saw it and he'd wanted to commend her in some way, both for that
and the expression in her eyes when she looked at his lord.

Love, it had come to both of them.

He had not been unaware of Sebastian's irritation thoughout the journey. It had shown in a hundred different ways. Another man might have thought it had been purely jealousy, but Jerard knew that despair had been present as well.

He bent to pull another rock free of the opening. De Rutger's troops had filled the tunnel well from this side. He only hoped that it was not blocked all the way to the top.

It would make the job ahead difficult, but it would be accomplished. On that, he swore his oath.

S
ebastian avoided her the rest of the day and two days after that. For three days he managed to escape being in the same room with her. He worked in the tunnel, leaving it late at night and beginning again at dawn. She wondered if he ate, then found evidence of it in the room set aside to prepare the Cathar meals. If he slept, it was in one of the sleeping chambers; he never again joined her in the courtyard.

If he meant to wound her, he did. Yet, for all his protests, for all his logic, for all his sacrifice, Sebastian had never said the words that would have dissuaded her from accompanying him into exile.
I do not want you
. She had always been able to see the hint of loneliness in his eyes. Or perhaps it was only the reflection of hers.

She spent the time in chores that occupied the hours. She bathed in the large stone bath. The sensation was odd, that of silky water and scratchy stone. She straightened the empty chambers, as if in silent apology to all those people whose lives had once been so tidily lived in these rooms. One morning, she found a small carved doll beneath an over-turned bed. The doll boasted a body of soft down,
a face that bore a sweet smile. Upon her cheek was a shiny rubbed spot, as if stroked often. Juliana placed it gently upon a pillow as if its owner would return soon and need it to sleep.

Once or twice she thought she heard the whisper of voices. She could almost believe that, if she remained perfectly still, she might be able to eavesdrop upon conversations, smile at the sound of laughter.

Most of her time, however, was spent in the scriptorium. She had removed the relics from their basket with trembling hands. Her awe and wonder was such that she could hardly bear to touch them. More than twelve hundred years had passed since these objects had been used, yet there was still an aura of holiness about them. She extracted a few scrolls to occupy her before returning the precious objects to their place.

Sebastian had been right in saying that the first treasure of the Cathars was knowledge. There was a collection of bestiaries, each describing strange animals she'd never seen. The tales were accompanied by a series of drawings. One showed an enormous animal with an appendage sagging in front of him like a fifth leg. Another, a spotted beast with an elongated neck and triangular head. There was a series of scrolls entitled
Speculum Divinorum
, and a practicum that appeared to be a text on medical remedies. A few scrolls were filled with the knowledge of plants, almost an encyclopedia of drawings with captions below the illustrations. A few scrolls were in Greek that she could not read, but the majority were in Latin.

She found herself enthralled, delighted, the words whisking her from her misery as nothing else could. Hours passed while she read, her eyes widening at
some passages, her smile broadening at others. Evidently, scribes from long ago left personal colophons in the margins, just as she did. A few of them amused her. “It is cold today. It is natural, it is winter.” “I feel quite dull today, I don't know what's wrong with me.” But her favorite was the self-chiding of a scribe whose sentiments had echoed her own on too many occasions. “He who does not know how to write supposes it to be no labor, but though only three fingers write, the whole body labors.” How many times had she ached from head to toe because of being bent over her desk all day?

That day when she emerged from the scriptorium late in the afternoon, Sebastian was in the courtyard. He stood at the ruined wall, looking down into the valley. Because of the steep angle, the road was not visible from there. Nor could they see beyond the thick growth of trees.

At her footsteps, he turned. For a moment he tensed, and she thought he might seize upon any excuse to leave. She would not beg him to remain. It was not pride that made her hesitate, but only the certain knowledge that asking him to yield would only firm his determination to remain aloof. He was determined to free her from Montvichet and from himself.

She looked at the red L upon his back and chest. Loved, perhaps. Her lord. She smoothed her fingers against the initial, feeling the heat of his body through the smooth fabric. It was a coarser weave than his monk's robe, but so much softer. Her hand pressed against his back, and he moved away.

A long moment later, she moved to stand beside him, relieved when he did not move or retreat even farther from her.

“What will happen to Jerard and the others?”

“I do not know.”

“Yet, you would have me go with him.”

“No. I only selected the lesser of the evils given me.” He stared straight ahead.

“Oh, Sebastian, how can you think that?”

“I have seen the proof of it on my flesh, Juliana.”

“Did you never think it might not have been a wise decision you made, Sebastian?”

“No,” he said, turning to her. “How many hours do you imagine I've thought of it? Weeks, Juliana. That's how long.”

“There is nothing I can say, is there?”

“No.” He turned away.

“You've found a way out of here, haven't you? That pit.”

He glanced over at her. “It leads to a series of tunnels, one of which ends at the base of the mountain. The Cathars called it the Gate of Heaven.”

“Why didn't they use it to escape?”

“Montvichet was their sanctuary. Where would they go? The Gate of Heaven was for those who chose to join them. But they never thought of leaving. However, the tunnel is blocked and must be cleared.”

“You are going back down there, aren't you?”

He nodded. “I will descend into hell itself if it means freeing you from this place.”

“Is there any way I can aid you?”

He glanced at her. “I do not trust you not to pile the stones back in place the moment my back is turned.” A quirk of his lips surprised her, coaxed her own smile free.

“I've been reading their scrolls.”

He glanced at her sharply.

“I'm amazed at their collection of texts.”

“Some are very old.”

“I have not read those yet,” she said, and her words seemed to ease him in some way.

The afternoon sun seemed lower in the sky. Since they'd left Langlinais, the seasons had changed. Autumn was here. At Langlinais, the harvesting would be done by now. What would Grazide find to occupy her days? How would the castle appear as nature readied itself for winter?

Questions that might be futile. They could be trapped here for the rest of their lives. No, even stone would crumble before Sebastian's will.

She asked another question that had been in her mind for days. “What will the Templars do with the chalice?”

He shrugged. “Allow a rumor to be spread that they hold the Grail, I've no doubt. There might even be a war of wills between the Church and the Order. Whoever emerges the victor will attain more power.”

“Will no one ever know that it's a false icon?”

He smiled. “The past abounds with lies, Juliana. The bards would have you believe that God held the sun still in the sky so that Charlemagne could exact revenge against those who killed his nephew in battle. The test is to wean the truth from the falsehood.”

“Is that your revenge against the Templars, Sebastian?”

His smile vanished. “I have no reason to avenge myself, Juliana. In truth, they did me a favor by obtaining my release from prison, even if there were other motives behind it. If I avenge anyone, it is Magdalene.”

His hands braced against the wall, fingers brushed against a crumbled stone.

It had taken determination and perseverance to withstand the siege that had destroyed this wall. She
could not help but wonder what it had been like. She looked down at the valley, captivated by an odd wish to know of those moments. Where would the catapults have been placed? How had the women calmed their children? Had they heard the sounds of the boulders just before they crashed into the stones?

She glanced down absently, her thoughts on those women and their last days. What must it have been like for them?

Her gaze was drawn back to Sebastian's hands. Something was wrong.

At first she thought it was the fact that Sebastian bared his hands. He did not do so easily, even now. He had probably discarded the gauntlets after emerging from the tunnel. The heat and the resultant moisture must render the gloves uncomfortable for him. But it was not the fact that his hands were bared, or even that the afternoon sun illuminated his disease so cruelly.

It was because there were no lesions on Sebastian's hands. They had not merely faded or changed in character. The fingers that rested against the crumbling stone were tanned and free of illness. The sores had not merely been altered, they were gone. Disbelief flared in her chest, followed immediately by a tiny refrain of hope. It seemed to grow, until it sang from her very bones.
Please, let it be true
.

A need to guard this moment, keep it safe and inviolate, prompted her to whisper. “Sebastian, look at your hand.”

He glanced down, then remained motionless as if his flesh had become rock. An eternity of moments later, he placed his left hand beside his right, extended both hands in front of him. They trembled.

He lowered them, his gaze now on the far horizon.
He wore no expression, but there was a dawning of something she'd never before seen in his eyes.

Finally he turned, walked with slow and measured steps, as if he were blind and feeling his way, to the center of the courtyard. He viewed his hands by every matter of shadow and light, holding them outstretched, aloft. Both palms were traced with fingers of the opposite hand. Then, he held them closer to his face as if uncertain of what he saw. Finally, he lowered them to his sides and stood there for a long moment, head bowed.

When he moved, it was to fist his hands at the neck of the leper's robe, pulling it apart inch by inch, rending the garment with deliberate force. The material parted, held to his body only at the shoulders. He rolled them and it fell to the ground.

He ran his hands over his flesh as if to test it. He was furred like one of the improbable animals in the bestiary, but there was no blemish on his chest. His fingers flexed and ran from stomach to thighs. He bent and touched his feet, each separate toe, then stood again as quickly.

He closed his eyes, took a long, shivering breath, then opened them again and performed his survey once again. He rubbed his palms hard against thighs and knees and chest, as if to slough off the skin that hid the disease from his sight. But there was no flaw to him, no mark other than that made by war.

She felt a tear cascade over her lashes, fall soundless to the stone of the courtyard.

As she watched, he collapsed to his knees in the bright white afternoon sun. His hands were tightly clenched, resting on his thighs. His head was not bowed, but arched back, as if he sought the face of God in the clear, cloudless day. Only then did she realize that great shudders shook him.

Sebastian of Langlinais was crying.