The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (25 page)

It was a small town, Bram, with few defences, sitting as it did on flat
and open countryside. There were a few ineffectual walls and gates surrounding
it which the townspeople courageously closed when Simon’s emissaries arrived to
discuss surrender. It was over in a matter of a few days. Bram surrendered and
Simon took a hundred men prisoner. He treated them exactly as Giraud de Pepieux
had treated Simon’s French knights—he cut off their ears and their lips
and put out the eyes of ninety-nine of them. The hundredth man was left with
one eye so he could lead the others to the small fortress of Cabaret nearby.
They were sent off across the plain and around the foot of the mountains, each
man holding on to the shoulder of the man in front. They arrived in Cabaret to
the wails of the townswomen and exclamations of horror from the knights there.
Only Giraud de Pepieux was silent; he was amazed to discover the existence of
someone even crueller than he.

Having taken Bram, Simon sought out the priest who had betrayed him in
Montreal. When the poor unfortunate was dragged kicking and screaming from the
church where he had taken sanctuary, Simon ordered him to be dragged through
the town tied to the end of a horse’s tail and then hanged. With this act of
cruelty, there could be no doubting Simon’s extreme intentions. He had set out
to rid the world of a deadly disease and he would use any method to accomplish
this feat.

In her solarium
the afternoon of her return
to Occitania and to the arms of her husband, Alicia wasted little time in
telling him what had transpired while she had stayed with Marie de Joinville in
Champagne. As Simon had predicted, Geoffrey had been absent. Their new baby
son, along with all her duties on their estates, had kept Marie sequestered at
home, so when Alicia arrived, Marie had been delighted to welcome her. She had
been pleased to see her and to hear the news from Occitania, and she listened
with great interest as Alicia recounted the news about Simon’s campaign.
Although they spent several pleasant afternoons together, Alicia had been able
to glean only sparse information about the shroud. She had not wished to press
Marie too strongly lest her friend suspect there was an ulterior motive for the
visit.

“What did you learn, then?” Simon’s impatience was growing. Without his
realising it, the shroud was beginning to assume enormous proportions in his
mind.

Marie outlined his face with her fingertips as she replied, “You look
weary, my lord. Come share a goblet of wine with me and I’ll explain.”

Impatiently, Simon called for the wine.

“There is not much more to tell you,” Alicia continued once they were
alone again. “It is true that Geoffrey’s uncle was here with another Templar
Knight at the time we spoke of. It is also true that he was in Constantinople
immediately prior to that time. What we didn’t know before was his whereabouts
here in Occitania, and I have found that out for you,” she declared
triumphantly.

“Good God, woman. Get on with it!” Simon was tempted to shake her so
impatient was he for the news. “Where did they go, these Templar knights?”

“To Montsegur, my lord.”

“Montsegur! But why go there? It is only an abandoned fortress, and so
remote even the Romans gave up on it!”

“Perhaps that’s why, my lord—the very reason, in fact. Who would
expect to find something as valuable as the shroud of Our Lord in an abandoned
fortress?”

Simon pulled hard at his beard as he paced the floor. “I have certainly
heard that part of the fortress is being rebuilt. The stories have it that it
is something of a refuge for the heretics. I had thought to deal with it in
time, for what damage could they do so far away, almost cloistered on that
mountain?”
 

“If the story of the shroud has any merit at all, surely it could become
a dangerous rallying point.”

“As usual, you are right, my dear. It bears closer investigation, but I
cannot afford to deploy many men. Perhaps Brother Dominic could send some of
his friars to investigate. I will go myself at once to speak to him.”

“Wait! I have a better idea. Why not send Amaury and Guy? No one would
suspect them, especially Guy, who could pass for a local. He speaks the
language like a native and even Amaury has some command of it. Besides, the
country would not be completely unfamiliar to Guy. Remember, he has spent half
his life here and knows the ways of the people. What better work could they do
for Holy Mother Church? To restore our Lord’s shroud to the Holy Father would
be akin to a miracle!”

Alicia’s eyes gleamed with sudden passion. Guy’s unwillingness to fight
had become something of a worry to her. All the time she had been away with him
and the other children in the north, she had come to know her second son and
discovered he was not of the same temperament as his father or his older
brother. This would be an ideal opportunity to remove him from the centre of
the fighting taking place around them at that moment.

Simon considered the matter for a few moments. “A good idea, my darling,
but I cannot spare Amaury at the moment. It is imperative we take back those
towns we have lost as speedily as possible. The Cathars and the
faidits
we chased from Castres and
Lombers have taken refuge in Minerve and Termes. They must be squashed as we
would squash fleas on a dog. They are only vermin, after all. It doesn’t do to
forget that! The whole area is still alive with heretics. We must break their
resistance quickly if we are to succeed. Besides, Amaury is fast becoming one
of my most valuable leaders. The men rally to him with a will. I really cannot
do without him.”

Seeing that Simon was working himself up to another tirade, Alicia
hastened to calm him. “I understand what you say, my lord. I have another idea.
Let us send Guy alone. He is nearing fifteen, and with a small group of
retainers he would be safe enough. He will be far away from the fighting. The
only resistance he will likely meet will be from the heretics themselves, and
they’ll be no problem!”

“I had not expected to hear you even consider sending Guy away, no
matter what the cause. I must say it pleases me that you wish to do this. Are
you certain you can bear his departure so soon?”

“I must bear it if it helps our cause. Besides, I have other news for
you. I am with child again and will be brought to bed before Michaelmas so you
see I shall have other things on my mind.
 
Time is of the essence and now would be as good a time as any to send
him!”

Simon’s face lit up. Already the proud father of five children, he was
always ready to welcome another into his family. While his enemies might and
did see him as a monster, his family knew him to be a loving and caring father.

Guy was sworn to secrecy the following day when his parents told him of
their plan. To say he was delighted would be an understatement. Although he was
conscious of the great honour and trust his father was bestowing upon him, he
was also conscious of the fact that the glorious Petronille lived in the
general direction in which he would be travelling for the second part of his
journey.

His hopes were soon dashed, however, as his father explained the plan in
greater detail. Firstly, he would be in a form of disguise, dressed as an
ordinary labourer. There would be no armour, no indication that he was a de
Montfort.
 
Simon impressed upon him
that revealing his identify in an area so frequented by the heretics would be
tantamount to signing his own death warrant. He would travel alone, a dangerous
affair with all the marauding
routiers
that were about on the highways. For the first part of his journey, Simon could
offer him an escort of two men at arms, but once past Puivert he would be on
his own.

Guy was wretched. His hopes of seeing Petronille were firmly
dashed—not by anything his father had said, but by his own recognition
that it was no game he was about to play.

Chapter Eighteen

Occitania, South of France

Spring - Summer 1210 AD

Pons and Alain de Toulouse

Driven by the gnawing feeling in his empty stomach, Pons awoke early the
morning after his arrival in Fanjeaux—but not as early as the three
perfecti
who were still seated at the
table where they had been the night before.

“Come, my son.” Bertrand Arsen said kindly. “You must be hungry, a young
man like you. I confess we older ones sometimes forget the need to nourish our
bodies. There is bread here on the table, and wine, if you wish.”

Pons could hardly contain his eagerness as he tore off a chunk of the
crusty bread. He had not eaten in twelve hours and ate voraciously.

“We have a problem here,” Arnaud said, looking at the youth. “We have a
burden which we must lay upon you. It is a secret that we must
divulge—one which we had no intention of ever doing, but the times are
such that we must call upon even the youngest among us. You have already shown
us your merit and that you are able to live by your wits; your arrival here
without incident proves that. If it were possible, one of us would carry out
the task we are going to demand of you, but you know as we do that all of us
are marked men—if not now, in the very near future.”

Hearing the serious note in Arnaud’s voice, Pons stopped chewing. “What
is it you wish? You know I will always do my utmost to help our people.”

While Arnaud had been talking, Bertrand and the third
perfectus
had been unpacking the piece
of linen, said to be the shroud of our Lord, from its silk cover.
 
Pons was perplexed. The linen was a
fairly nondescript piece of material with what seemed to be a picture of a
man’s head painted on it. He had no idea what it represented.

“I do not wish to reveal the history of this linen which I am about to
hand into your care.”

Pons opened his mouth to speak, but Bertrand interrupted him. “As I have
mentioned before, the less said about it, the better. There are only a few
amongst the elders who are party to this information—not because the
others are not trustworthy, but because any knowledge of it is dangerous and it
could sign their death warrants. By withholding all that we know, we are
attempting in a small way to protect you. You will not be able to reveal what
you don’t know, should something evil befall you. All I will say to you is that
this material, if it is what we believe it to be, could be worth many men’s
lives. Many men have already died in pursuit of it.”

“But what am I to do with it?” Pons asked.

“With that devil, de Montfort, approaching us as rapidly as he is, we
must move it out of Fanjeaux. You know yourself that his armies are on our very
doorstep. Not only that, I’m sure Dominic de Guzman suspects that we elders
know more about the linen than we should. What he would say and do were he to
find it here, I would not like to guess. The lady Esclarmonde herself sent it
to us for safekeeping, and now it must be moved again because we don’t know
what the next few weeks will bring.”

“Does my lord of Toulouse know of this? His instruction to me was to go
to Esclarmonde in Pamiers.”

“Indeed he does not,” Bertrand said firmly. “Although he is our ally and
our protector in many ways, he is not a believer. He has to run with both the
hare and the hounds, and in order to protect his Cathar friends, he must be a
professed Catholic. The burden of this linen would be too much upon his soul.
He would have to give it up to the Holy Father.

Now, you will set out in the direction of Pamiers, but you will take a
more southerly route across the hills to Mirepoix. Never fear, on the way
brothers will meet you and guide you through the worst of the forests. Say
nothing of your burden to anyone. In Mirepoix you will go to the house of
Giraud Sicre—he is one of us. There you will wait for your next orders.
You need only show the dove for help to be immediately forthcoming.”

“But what of my journey to Pamiers? My Lord of Toulouse gave me
instructions to go to the Lady Esclarmonde.”

“At the moment, our needs are greater than his Lordship’s. There are
important things at stake and you will play a very large role in making
history, I assure you. We will make things right with Toulouse. You must now do
our bidding, my son! Never fear,” he added. “Your innocence is your best
protection. Go now and ready yourself for your journey. And may God go with
you.”

Bertrand turned to the other
perfecti
while Arnaud pronounced the blessing on the youth. “May God make a good
Christian of you and bring you to a good end.”

As devout as he was, Pons could not help hoping that “the good end”
would not be brought to him too soon.

Where to hide the linen was a major concern for the young man. He was
unable to put it in a saddlebag—he had no horse—and he could not
hide it in his clothes; it was too large, even rolled up. Finally, he
determined it would be best to wrap it around his upper body. This would give
him the appearance of a much thicker-set man. He could only pray that he would
not need to undress in front of any strangers and he made up his mind, then and
there, to avoid all inns because of their communal sleeping quarters.

Alain de Toulouse had very little difficulty in joining forces with de
Montfort, who was delighted by the arrival of his former enemy’s eldest son.
Simon found it hard to believe that the once proud Count of Toulouse was
prepared to bend the knee—if not to him, to Holy Mother Church. The men
Alain’s father had sent to accompany him were welcome indeed. De Montfort
needed them desperately, for although Alicia had brought reinforcements, there
was always a shortage of good fighting men.

He had already begun his campaign to win back the fortresses he had lost
so precipitously the year before, but his army was thinly stretched and, as
always, the advantage was with the opposing forces due to their intimate
knowledge of the countryside. With the addition of Toulouse’s son and his local
knowledge of the terrain and the language, Simon hoped to encourage other
Occitanians to join his forces.

Simon and Alain had had their first encounter at the siege of Minerve.
Impressively positioned, the town had been flanked by deep gorges, and Simon
was obliged to surround the community and position his siege machines in the
mountains that encircled the town. After several weeks of bombardment, a lucky
hit had destroyed the staircase to the well, and water became unobtainable.
After many citizens died of thirst, the town surrendered. The terms of the
surrender were simple and non-negotiable; the Elders in the town would recant
their heresy, or die by fire.

Alain rode into Minerve as the pyres were being constructed, the smell
of death already hanging in the air.

None of the Cathars had recanted; they
 
would be burned at the stake. He could hardly believe his
eyes as he rode through the ruins of the small community to the square where
the fires would be lit. He had heard of these burnings, but nothing in his
imagination had prepared him for the actual event. In truth, he had always
suspected that the reports the messengers had brought back to his father had been
exaggerated. He knew now that they were not!

When Alain was ushered into Simon’s presence, he was surprised to find
the Pope’s Legate, Arnold-Almeric, seated at a table, which was set with
goblets for wine and several platters of roast chicken and jugged hare. It
appeared that both the military and the religious commanders were about to
dine.

“Come in, my boy.” Simon’s welcome seemed genuine. “We have been
expecting you. Your father’s message reached us several days ago. Please join
us. You must be hungry after your journey.”
 
He motioned for Alain to seat himself.

The Papal Legate did not appear so welcoming. He had no reason to trust
any of the offspring of his enemy, the Count of Toulouse, who had made a fool
of the illustrious cleric once too often. Nevertheless, he proffered his hand
on which he wore the ring bearing the insignia of his office. Alain dutifully
kissed it, noticing the softness of the skin of the man who wore it. This man
might be the religious leader of the Crusade, but as anyone could see, he had
never sullied his hands by fighting. He preferred to fight in the
background—with words rather than weapons. There was less risk that way.

As far as the young man was concerned, the meal was a nightmare,
conscious as he was of what was taking place in the square outside the church
vestry where he and the other two men were eating. The smoke from the bonfires
was already curling round the portals of the church. The choking atmosphere
appeared to deter his companions’ appetites not one whit; the cleric polished
off two fat capons and several flagons of wine in a matter of minutes. Simon
was a little more abstemious, but Alain, try as he might to force down some
morsels of food, found himself near to gagging every time he tried to swallow.

“You will have to harden your stomach, my boy,” Simon said, chuckling.
“You will be treated to worse sights than these. These people had a chance to
save their lives but did not wish to do so. They have chosen to die in this
manner, and we certainly do not want to disappoint them, do we?”

Alain did his best to appreciate the humour. The last thing he wanted
was for these two abominations of God to suspect that he was not here to do
their bidding or help with their cause.

“Come,” Arnold-Almeric said as he struggled to his feet. “They are going
to lead the first of the heretics to the fire. We may yet witness a miracle if
some of them decide to change their minds about what they believe. My only
regret is that the cursed
faidits
managed to escape our clutches.”
 

“Have the believers ever done that at this stage, changed their minds?”
Alain asked in an effort to quell the dizziness that assailed him.

 
“No,” Arnold-Almeric
answered in a querulous tone. “They never give up. And mark my words, in a
while they will start to sing!”

As if on cue, the victims’ voices were raised as one in a hymn of
praise. The young man turned away. His stomach had revolted at last, and the
meal he had forced himself to eat splashed over his boots and, insultingly,
over those of the Legate, who fairly danced with rage at the ruination of his
fine leather footwear.

The youth saw that it did not take very long to dispatch one hundred and
forty souls to their maker—or, as Arnold-Almeric said sourly, “to hell!”
After the burning, a pall of greasy black smoke hung over the area so Alain was
relieved when Simon invited him to ride out around the town’s fallen defences.
Happy at the chance to breathe some unsullied air, the boy was even more
relieved when the Legate refused Simon’s invitation to ride with them,
preferring to rest before the evening meal and, as he had said rather testily
while looking at Alain, change his soiled garments!

The two men rode in silence for a few minutes before Simon spoke. “My
next objective is Termes,” he confided to the boy, “and I’ll need more men for
that. What I desire is that you ride in all haste to your father who is waiting
for my orders. He has billeted those of his vassals who will fight with us in
the town next to the chateau. He will be expecting a messenger from me.” He
smiled grimly as he spoke. “Tell him I require him to muster as many
able-bodied soldiers as possible and that they are to join me in Montlaur where
I have garrisoned a few of my men already. I know your father will not refuse
me, anxious as he is to prove his loyalty to Holy Mother Church! In any event,
when you go from here you must leave the soldiers who came with you. I am sure
they will be as loyal to me as they are to your father!”

Alain looked at Simon, seeking some confirmation of the sarcasm he heard
in the man’s voice; however, the crafty leader’s facial expression gave nothing
away.

“William of Termes is a stubborn devil and I foresee a long siege before
we break his resolve. Our army is stretched thin. With every conquest we make,
we must leave a garrison of soldiers guarding what we have won, so we will have
need of many more men of good fighting calibre before the campaign is finished.
Now, I see by the slump in your shoulders that you are tired. Get some rest.
You must leave at dawn tomorrow.”

Pons heaved a sigh of relief when he arrived in Mirepoix. His journey
had been all the more arduous because he avoided staying in any area where
communal sleeping was required, which ruled out virtually all the accommodation
en route. He was tired and hungry when he approached the town.
At least
, he thought to himself,
I will be amongst believers here because the
Count of Foix is Esclarmonde’s brother, and there is sure to be a large
contingent of us
.

It did not take him long to discover, however, that while he had been
journeying to the town, the political situation had changed for the worse.
Mirepoix itself, that bastion of Cathar sympathisers, had fallen to the Devil’s
army and many of the brethren had been rounded up and taken away to be
questioned by the local Catholic bishops. Those who had managed to escape had
fled to the countryside and the mountains. Pons was reluctant to ask too many
questions for fear of arousing suspicion, and spent all his time avoiding the
men garrisoning the town. He had no wish to remake the acquaintance of his
former soldier companions, fine fellows though they were!