The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (26 page)

The youth was very hungry—a condition he had learned to live with
by now—and had no idea whether his contact, Bernard de Sicre, was alive
or dead. The noise he heard as he walked past several taverns bore witness to
the number of men who were intent on using any free time they had to drink
themselves into oblivion. It seemed to him a dangerous idea to call at any of
these establishments for information, as he had no desire to draw attention to
himself. Viewing it safer to go hungry, he decided finally to turn around and
make his way back to Fanjeaux. Hardly had he turned on his heels when he felt a
slight tap on his shoulder. He whirled around, expecting trouble, or, at the
very least, one of his former soldier acquaintances.

It was no one he recognised—certainly not a soldier—but a
middle-aged woman dressed plainly in black with a white coiffed head covering.

She looked at him intently before remarking, “These are strange times,
are they not?”

Pons could not help but agree with her, all the time wondering who or
what she was.

“Are you by any chance looking for work? Most of our young men have
gone, either to fight the enemy or to do other of God’s work.”

Pons noticed she carefully did not clarify whom she meant by “enemy,” or
what she meant by “God’s work.” He replied, “If you know of anyone who could
allow me food in return for a few days’ work, I would gladly labour for them!”

“Would you mind working in the fields? I am especially fond of working
outside myself. I love the fresh air, particularly the singing of the birds. Do
you like birds?”

The question hit Pons like a blow to his face. Who was this woman and
could he trust her? “Well, yes,” he stammered. “I am fond of birds.”

“My favourites are doves,” she went on chattily. “I love the cooing
noise they make.”

Without saying a word, Pons pulled out the tiny dove he wore around his
neck. He could only hope he wasn’t making an enormous mistake.

“Thank God I have found you!” Her face expressed her relief.
 
“Follow me. I will lead you to some of
our brethren. We knew you were coming because Bernard de Sicre managed to get a
message to us just before he was taken. The elders have mostly gone; many of
them managed to save themselves, but one or two were unlucky. A few of us
believers said we would stay behind. It seems the Devil is not too concerned
with us. He wishes only to convert our Elders, thinking that should they desert
our church we will follow suit.”

She hurriedly guided Pons down several narrow streets until she
eventually came to a small house set into a large stone wall.

“I think you will be safe here for a while,” she said. “There is no
entry from the back of the house, and the walls are nearly ten feet thick. They
are the original ramparts of the town. Not even de Montfort himself was able to
batter them down!” She paused to look at him. “I think you could do with some
food,” she said decisively, putting some bread in front of him, along with a
large bowl of some sort of stew. As Pons ladled the meat onto his bread he
could not have cared less if it had been rat meat. He was famished, a condition
that had become all too familiar to him in the past few months.

“What will you do now? We have no knowledge of why you are here, only
that it was important you were looked after and helped to leave safely when you
wished to do so.”

Speaking with his mouth full, Pons replied, “I must return to Fanjeaux
as soon as possible. The brothers there will be anxious to see my return in
view of what has happened here. If I might, I would spend the night here and
set out before cock crow tomorrow. I can sleep on the floor; I am well used to
that. Besides, I have no wish to put you at any more risk. I will leave at
first light.”

Pons took his leave somewhat regretfully the next day. The little house
had been comfortable and welcoming, something he had sadly missed in the last
few months. It reminded him of home and all the love he received in his own
family. For the first time in months, he was beginning to feel homesick—a
dangerous emotion—rather like he had felt in Toulouse. How long ago that
seemed!
Perhaps
, he thought,
it was time to go home
.

After Simon’s dismissal, Alain had lost no time in returning to his
father, whose pleasure at his son’s safe return was obvious. For the first time
in several weeks the older man walked with his head held high and a spring in
his step. The political machinations of the last months had taken their toll on
the Count and his son was quick to notice all the added lines of worry that had
developed in his father’s careworn face.

The Count was less than pleased at de Montfort’s request and had no
intention of acceding to the orders of a minor jumped up nobleman, a person of
far lesser rank than he, which is what he considered de Montfort to be.
Although he had professed himself to be a loyal Crusader and defender of the
Church, he never had any intention of fighting against his neighbours, or, for
that matter, his own vassals. His public scourging the year before and his
submission to the church had been a ploy to keep safe his domains and the
people living on them and the ploy was working. A Crusader’s land and property
were sacrosanct and could be attacked by no one!

In the familiar Tour du Midi, where Alain had spent many happy hours
with the rest of his family he was welcomed back by his father, the
conversation growing more serious as the evening went on.

“I had not wished to worry you with the latest summons I have had from
the Church Council in St. Gilles, but in view of de Montfort’s demand we must
plan our course of action very carefully. I have once more been accused of
failing to rid my lands of heretics and Jews. They have told me again that I am
to disband my mercenaries, and they wish me to pay more taxes in retribution of
my former “sins.” They have demanded my presence in Narbonne. As I understand
it, de Montfort will be there. I have not made up my mind what to do. It may be
a trap, even though the Council is to be held under the auspices of Holy Mother
Church. It will be led by Arnold-Almeric, and you know what that means—he
despises me and all I stand for.”

 
“De Montfort will not be in
Narbonne—not yet, anyway. He thinks you are there waiting for him and has
commanded me to tell you to take your men to Montlaur to begin the siege there.
I met Arnold-Almeric himself at Minerve. What an odious man!
 
He was there enjoying the conflagration
with de Montfort. Can you believe it? They both managed to eat a meal while those
poor souls were burning. They are hard men but Arnold-Almeric is an especially
vile and vicious person. He claims to be a man of God but he certainly does not
deserve the title. I witnessed little of the charity in his black heart that
Paul speaks of in the Holy Bible. He enjoyed seeing those souls suffer and was
glad so few of them repented. De Montfort was all for giving them a second
chance to recant their heresy, but Arnold-Almeric wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I will send men to Montlaur as de Montfort has demanded, and you will
go as their leader. I, myself, will go to the Council in Narbonne as the
Legates have demanded. It will be interesting to take the measure of this man
personally who has so troubled our lives!”

“If de Montfort is in Narbonne, he will not be in Termes. Even
he
can’t be in two places at
once—although he is convinced the angels are on his side! Perhaps I will
have a chance to do some damage to their cause while he is away. I expect that
toad, Arnold-Almeric will go with him; he sticks with the Devil. In truth, they
deserve each other!”

“Have a care, my son. They are evil incarnate and you should not be
surprised if de Montfort has set people to watch you. They do not trust us,
which is why I am once more summoned by the Council. I would not wish any harm
to befall you. If things do not go right for me at Narbonne, you will be in
their hands. Be always on your guard!”

“Do not fear for me, Papa. Rather be careful of yourself. They are out
to trap you. You of all people have experienced their malice. It will be easy
for me to flee into the mountains should it become necessary. They would never
catch me there. My mother’s family would protect me and get me across the
border into Spain.”

“Then go, my son, and God go with you.” He hugged the youth in an
uncharacteristic display of emotion before abruptly turning away from him. As
Alain clattered down the stone steps of the tower, the older man brushed tears
from the corners of his eyes. For the first time in his life, he felt the icy
hand of fear in his heart.
  

Chapter Nineteen

Occitania, South of France

Autumn 1210

Pons

The late summer was already turning to autumn by the time Pons arrived
back in Fanjeaux. He lost no time in seeking out the house where he had met
Bertrand Arsen and Arnaud a few short months ago. Well aware now of the dangers
the
perfecti
found themselves in, he
would not have been surprised to find the small dwelling unoccupied. At that
moment, Fanjeaux was a dangerous place for anyone who dare question Holy Mother
Church.

Brother Dominic had a large following in the town. His convent, recently
founded in Prouille a few short miles away, was beginning to attract Catholics
from far and wide. The Pope was in the throes of granting permission for him to
found an order of preachers, and many young zealots were already flocking to
Fanjeaux to take up his call to hunt down the heretics and try to convert them.

Pons was relieved, therefore, when the door was opened to his soft knock
and Bertrand Arsen stood before him. The
perfectus
drew him quickly into the room and closed the door firmly, drawing a wooden bar
across it. There was a chill in the air, which struck cooler inside the cottage
than it did outside, and no fire. Bertrand quickly explained that they feared
to light one in case the smoke should lead the soldiers to them.

“All we can offer you are some vegetables and a small amount of beer. We
have nothing else here. For us it does not matter, but I can see you have had a
wearisome journey. You must have more sustenance. Brother Arnaud will arrange
for you to go to one of our other houses where you can be properly taken care
of. For the moment, make do with what we have and tell us your news. Firstly,
did you meet with Bernard de Sicre?”

“Have you not heard the news? Mirepoix was taken by de Montfort, and all
the brothers were either arrested or fled. Fortunately, Bernard ensured I would
come to no harm and a kindly sister let me rest at her house. I lost no time
returning here, for I still carry the burden you gave me. I do not know if
Bernard is alive or dead and I did not know where to leave the linen. I
expected any minute to be recognised by some of the soldiers there and so
returned as quickly as I could.”

Arnaud spoke for the first time. “You did well, my boy. You have managed
to save the linen and evade capture and we are grateful for that! Our problem
once more is where to hide it now. De Montfort’s army is everywhere. We have
heard from our spies that he is seeking the linen and that he and
Arnold-Almeric will greatly reward anyone with information regarding its
whereabouts.”

Pons looked Arnaud in the eye. “Excuse my plain speaking, but isn’t it
about time I knew what it was I was protecting. I have carried this material
about my person for many weeks without question. In truth, I was afraid to be
near anyone when I slept for fear of discovery, and have bathed only in
mountain streams in near darkness so no one could see me. What is this cloth?”

“What you say is true, my boy. You have every right to know what you
have been risking your life for and what, God willing, you will be prepared to
risk your life for again. Do you agree, Bertrand, that the boy should be told?”
Arnaud appealed to the older man for guidance.

The explanation of the linen’s importance stunned Pons. His reaction was
one of incredulity followed by a certain amount of anger at the knowledge of
the importance of his mission. He jumped to his feet and opened his mouth, but
before he could speak Bertrand interrupted.

“Do not be angry, my boy. We sought only to protect you and your family.
Had any of de Montfort’s spies questioned you, you would not have needed to lie
to them. And they would not have had to use your family to make you talk.”

Slightly mollified by this explanation, Pons sat down again.

“Clearly the linen must be moved from here. To keep it in Fanjeaux would
be like putting a lamb in a lion’s cage. Imagine Dominic’s joy in possessing
such an article. Although many believe the face on the linen to be that of
Jesus Christ, we know that He never really lived as a man, he only existed in
spirit form and therefore the imprint cannot be His. The danger is, of course,
that Catholics believe this was the burial shroud of the Christ. There is no
denying that many miracles have been attributed to it. The Templar Knights took
it from Constantinople for safekeeping and it was claimed that the linen saved
that city from destruction several times. If Dominic were to get his hands on
it, imagine what atrocities the army could commit in its name and what power de
Montfort and the church would have!”

They all shuddered at the thought of what further carnage could be
wrought in the name of God with so powerful a tool.

“Tell me what you wish me to do,” Pons said. “I will do it gladly, even
at the expense of my own life. I see now why you told me I could save many
lives. It appears this is still the case; the shroud must be saved, and it
seems that I am the one who will do it.”

“Well spoken, Pons. You are indeed a credit to your family. You know
that you will be rewarded, if not in this life, then in the next. Have no
fear.
 
God will help you, for He
always defends the righteous! In the meantime, we must do what we can here in
this life to protect you and your burden. At the moment, the safest place for
you is back in Lavaur. We do not expect you to guard the linen for much longer.

“You will carry it back to Lavaur where you will meet Arnaud, who will
leave here and return on the pretext of seeing Maurina. Everyone there knows he
is her real father and his visit will arouse no suspicions. He will take charge
of the shroud when he arrives, but for safety’s sake you must be the one to get
it there. We will make up a large sack of herbs for your mother and bury the
cloth in it. No one will question you, carrying herbs. You can use it as a
pillow and rest your head on it at night. That way, you can at least seek the
shelter of an inn.”

Pons nodded. His heart was light at the thought of returning home to the
comfort of his family. He longed to see his little sisters again. As he
fingered the small wooden dove he still wore about his neck, he pictured
Maurina’s delight. His stomach began to contract as he thought of his mother’s
cooking, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten properly for days. The raw carrots
and turnips that Bertrand and Arnaud had set in front of him when he arrived
had little appeal. He knew his mother’s first words to him would be that he was
mere skin and bones!

“Come with me, I will take you to some good neighbours who are friends.
You will be able to spend the night there and they will give you a decent meal.
Set out tomorrow as early as possible so as to avoid the army traffic along the
way. You should not meet much; most of the army is at Termes taking part in the
siege there. Nevertheless, the Devil has eyes everywhere. He has recaptured
most of the chateaux he lost last year and has marauding bands of soldiers in
the most unlikely places. Be very careful to whom you speak. Guard your
counsel, as I’m sure you know, and trust no one. It will be a lonely trip, but
at least you are certain of a welcome at the end of it. I will see you, God
willing, in Lavaur before the winter sets in.”

 
Arnaud took his arm and led
him through a small door into the neighbouring byre. The sound of rushing water
met Pons’ ears as he entered the small yard outside. It was pitch black, but he
could make out a series of stepping stones that disappeared into the distance
in the rushing water.

“Follow the stones. The water is not deep, only wide. On the other side
someone will be waiting for you with a warm meal and a bed.”

With that, Arnaud disappeared into the blackness of the night.

The next day, with a full stomach and feeling jauntier than he had for
weeks, Pons set out for Lavaur. He could not disguise the happiness he felt although
he did his best to keep a grin from his face; it would have been out of place
in these sad times. The sack of herbs he was carrying was rather bulky and
heavy but he felt hardly any discomfort as he hoisted it over his shoulder. He
had not gone many paces before a wagon drew alongside him. The driver hailed
him with a cheerful shout. Ever suspicious, Pons drew away from the side of the
road, but the man persisted in his efforts to get Pons’ attention.

“Hey, Pons, don’t you recognise me?”

Pons looked over in surprise. Who was this man calling him by name so
far away from home? His face cleared when he saw that it was one of his friends
whom he had last seen in Toulouse. “What are you doing here, and where did you
get the cart? The last time I saw you, you were mucking out the Count’s
stables!”

“Ah, well, talent will rise to the top! I am on the Count’s business. He
has no men at arms that he can spare, so he sent me first to Prouille with a
message for Brother Dominic at the convent there. He’s a weird one if ever
there was one. Quite frightening, really. Very intense with scary eyes. I
wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him. As it was, I was only there for
about three hours, but I was glad to leave. They weren’t very hospitable, the
brothers, and they didn’t even offer to feed me or my horse.

“Now I’m going to Lavaur to pick up a supply of blue dye for the women
of the chateau. There may be a war on, but the women must still dress well!” He
grinned. “Where are you going? We all wondered where you’d gone and were told
you had decided to return home. What are you doing so far away from Lavaur?”

Not wanting to lie but also not wanting to tell the truth, Pons thought
quickly before he spoke. “I have a bundle of herbs here for my mother. There
are remedies she cannot get locally, so I was sent to find them.”

“Well if you want a lift, jump up. It will be easier on your feet than
walking, I can guarantee that!”

Pons agreed wholeheartedly. Throwing his bundle into the back of the
cart and caution to the wind, he jumped in the wagon.

The trip back to Lavaur was uneventful, much to Pons’ relief. The
constant drone of his erstwhile friend’s chatter soon lulled him to sleep. They
found lodging at a few inns, but for the most part they depended on monasteries
for a bed and their evening meal. More than once Pons wondered what the monks
would say if they knew he had in his bundle a relic too holy for most of them
even to contemplate. As it was, he insisted on using it for his pillow each
night and fell asleep to the pleasant scent of lavender and rosemary. Sleeping
like a newborn for the first time in months, he determined to tell his mother
of the benefits of a pillow made of herbs.

The joy in his family’s faces at his safe return was almost more than
Pons could bear. Maurina was so exited she could hardly speak, while Braida
clung to his hand as though she would never let it go. His father tried to hide
his emotion with gruffness, but Saissa cried openly as she thanked God for the
safe return of her only son. As Pons had suspected, she was quick to remark
about how thin he was. He had not been home for more than an hour before a huge
meal was set before him.

“Maman,” Pons said when he saw what she was expecting him to eat, “you
can’t expect me to regain all the weight I have lost with one meal. There is
enough here for five men!”

“Eat and tell us what has been happening to you. We have had some news
from the elders, but as you know, there are many more secrets now than there
used to be. We knew you would come back soon and that you would have some
significant news for us. We have been told that you bring with you something so
important that it must be protected whatever the cost.”

They all looked at him expectantly.

“The news is for later, Papa.” Pons looked meaningfully at the younger
members of the family, who were all watching him with rounded eyes.

“Ah, well, yes.” Pierre said. “Now, girls, isn’t it time the chickens
were fed?”

“But, Papa,” Maurina wailed, “every time something interesting is
discussed, where am I? Out feeding the chickens, that’s where. Will I never be
allowed to grow up? I’m nearly twelve, you know. Some of my friends are to be
married soon!”

“If you are talking about Corba, you know that I do not approve of these
early marriages. Fourteen is entirely early enough, and even then, many girls
aren’t strong enough to help their husbands in the fields. Corba’s father deems
it differently, and that is for him to decide. As long as you are in my house,
you must obey my rules. Now, as I have already said, please go and feed the
chickens!”

Braida went out cheerfully. She couldn’t have cared less about what Pons
had brought back with him; she was just glad he had returned. Maurina, on the
other hand, continued to look mutinous. She was tired of being thought of as a
mere child so it was not a difficult thing for her to leave the door slightly
ajar after they had left the room. In this manner, she managed to hear most of
the conversation. She would have heard the whole thing but for Braida, who kept
interrupting her, wanting to know why she wasn’t feeding the chickens or
collecting the eggs.

Later on that afternoon, the girl finally managed to get Pons all to
herself. As they walked along the banks of the River Agout, Maurina tried to
draw him out about what had really happened to him and what it all meant for
their family. Seeing she was intent on discovering the minutest details, Pons
eventually gave in to her and swore her to secrecy. He recognised in her a
maturity far beyond her years and found himself telling her things he would
never have told his younger sister Braida.