The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (30 page)

So intent were they on what they were about, the three men did not hear
the shout from the end of the alley, ordering them to stop what they were
doing. It wasn’t until the order was repeated that they looked up.

The youth who had spoken to them was clearly someone of note. The horse
he sat astride would have cost the common soldier ten years’ pay, and it was
caparisoned in the same livery as the men themselves wore. Whereas they were
besmirched with dirt, the boy’s livery fairly glowed in the shaft of sunlight
that struck him as he leaped from the animal and walked towards them. His face
was scarlet with temper as strode towards the hapless soldiers.

“What do you think you are doing?” As he spoke, he aimed a hefty kick at
the soldier who was trying to clamber to his feet and pull up his leggings at
the same time. “You know my father has expressly forbidden this. She is only a
child. Can’t you see that?” His voice rose in anger.

“Just our luck to be caught by him,” muttered one of the three under his
breath.

The young man whirled on him. “You’ll see how lucky you are!” He had
overheard the remark and his anger rose even further. He motioned to his men at
arms, who by now had joined the group. “Take these animals to their sergeant at
arms. He will deal with them as my father has prescribed. Tell him from me not
to go lightly on the flogging!”

The three miscreants were led away, cursing loudly and bemoaning their
ill luck at having been caught just as they were about to enjoy some of the
fruits of conquest.

While this had been happening, Maurina had lain huddled on the ground,
not daring to look up. She had understood nothing of the conversation because
all the men were from the north and had spoken a language very different from
her own. Stripping off his riding gauntlets, the young man bent over to help
her up. Maurina recoiled, expecting the worst.

“You have no need to fear me.” The voice was soft. He spoke her language
with an accent she thought she recognised. “Those men will be punished. They
have disobeyed my father’s orders and for that they will be severely flogged.”

Maurina looked more closely at her rescuer. This was the youth she had
last seen on the mountainside near Montsegur—certainly dressed more
ostentatiously now, but undoubtedly the same person! She tried to stand, but
her legs still felt shaky. Now that the threat was gone, she realised what
peril she had been in. Her dress was in tatters and the shift beneath it torn,
exposing her immature breasts. Her neck was reddened and bruises were appearing
where the ribbon securing the carved dove had scored her skin. It was this dove
that caught the boy’s eye.

“I know you! We met near Montsegur, don’t you remember? You were going
to your uncle’s house to get away from the fighting. Now it seems you are right
in the middle of it.” The boy’s voice held a questioning note, which Maurina chose
to ignore. “Your brother was called Pons. Is he here, too?” The youth looked
around him. “What are you doing here, anyway? This is about as dangerous a
place as you could be in at the moment.” He smiled. “I seem to make a habit of
picking you up off the ground, don’t I?”

Maurina looked at him shyly. He was certainly no ordinary labourer, as
he had led them to believe that morning on the mountain. He was clearly a
person of quality and undoubtedly an enemy. Pons and Arnaud had been right to
suspect him while she was defending him. She had a lot to learn!

Becoming more aware of her bedraggled appearance, Maurina attempted to
cover her nakedness with her torn shift. Immediately noticing her
embarrassment, the youth walked over to his saddlebag and pulled out a square
of fine silk embroidered with the same vivid emblem that her attackers had
worn.

“Here, tuck this into your bodice,” he said gently. “It will serve as
protection for you until you get home. No one will dare approach you wearing
that.”

She did as she was told, marvelling at the fineness of the material and
the brightness of the silver beast appliquéd onto it. “Who are you?” Her
courage was returning as the strength crept back into her legs. “You speak our
language so well, but you are clearly not one of us.”

The young man gazed at her, realising he did not want to make an enemy
of this courageous girl. What should he tell her? Since failing to find any
information about the Holy Shroud, he had spent the last few months on campaign
with his father and had grown to respect the steadfastness with which the
perfecti
held to their faith. Though the
Cathar elders were held in great esteem and had enormous authority among their
followers, not one of them had ever raised a hand against their aggressors. While
the enemy soldiers took this for weakness, the self control these believers
demonstrated appealed greatly to the youth whose nurturing in a southern
household had given him different values from those held by his own family.

“Please, go home now. You and your family will be safe there. Tell Pons
to stay indoors, whatever provocation he sees outside. And should it be
necessary, show the banner I have given you. We will not be in the town long.
My father will garrison it, and as long as the townsfolk give up the heretics
he demands, there will be no more killing.”

He walked toward his horse and waved. She stood looking as the sound of
his horse’s hoofs died away. It was then that Maurina realised with a start
that her saviour had been none other than Guy de Montfort, son of the man they
called the Devil!

Chapter Twenty Three

Occitania, South of France

May 1211 AD

Lavaur Departure

Maurina’s arrival at home was greeted with sighs of relief from her
family. After being unceremoniously yanked indoors, she stood shamefaced as
Saissa alternately hugged and scolded her. Pierre said little, preferring to
leave the punishment to his wife. Pons was furious, having had visions of his
sister’s broken body lying somewhere in the town centre.

Although Maurina did not elaborate overmuch on what had taken place,
Pons’ imaginings were not far from what might have happened had it not been for
the fortuitous arrival of Guy. Once she had been cleaned up (she stank like the
midden, her mother had said!), she sat down to tell the family what had
happened. Their first questions concerned the silk banner she wore to cover her
nakedness. Why was she wearing it? Where had it come from? Who had given it to
her? How had she torn her bodice?

The questions came thick and fast, and she did her best to answer them
quickly, aware as she was of the disaster that was taking place just a few
streets away in the centre of the town. The family had guessed that the walls
had been breached because the interminable pounding had finally ceased, but up
until then few soldiers had penetrated as far into the town as their cottage.
They could not hear the screams of the population from where they lived and so
had no idea of the carnage that was being meted out.

“Why are you wearing something with de Montfort’s colours on it?” Pons
took hold of Maurina and almost shook her. “What have you been up to? Where
were you?”

Upset as she was by all her experiences of the morning, Maurina pushed
his arm away and burst into tears. Pons was immediately contrite. This was
unlike the Maurina he knew!

“I was near the wall when they broke through, and three soldiers set
upon me.” She did not disclose how she had nearly been raped. “A young soldier
riding past where I was hiding called the men off and gave me this banner to
cover myself. He said no one would dare attack me again as long as I had
it.
 
Pons, do you remember when we
were going to Montsegur? You and Arnaud both thought there was something odd
about the boy travelling to Montsegur at that time of year. Well, you were
right. He wasn’t what he seemed—”

She was interrupted by her brother, who grabbed her arm again
impatiently. “Get on with it, girl! Who was it?”

Before replying, she rubbed her neck, which was now more painful than
ever. “It was Guy de Montfort!” The gasps of the family were audible as this
news dropped like a bombshell. “He recognised the dove and remembered it from
when he had rescued me on the mountain after I fell on the ice. He gave me a
message for you, Pons.
 
He said on
no account should you leave the house, no matter what you hear or think is
happening. We will all be safe here as long as we have this.” She gestured
towards the banner, now spread across the table.

“What else did he say?” Pierre’s manner was milder than his son’s, but the
question was none the less urgent.

“He said as long as all the
perfecti
were given up to his father’s authority, none of the rest of us would suffer.
What did he mean by that, Papa?”

“Where are you going?” Saissa’s voice held a note of alarm.

As Maurina had been answering his question, Pierre had caught up his
leather jerkin and was on his way out the door. “I must warn everyone to get
away while they can. Close the shutters and bar the door. If anyone attempts to
break in, tell them you are under the protection of de Montfort!” He was gone
without saying more, leaving the others who were wondering if they would ever
see him again.

“I should go, too,” Pons said decisively. “He’ll need some help.”

His mother feared that whatever she said would have little effect on his
decision to thrust himself once more into danger. “Don’t go, son,” she
nonetheless pleaded with him. “What if your father doesn’t return?” She started
to weep, which was the signal for Braida to break down and sob, too.

“I’ll go with you, Pons,” said Maurina, her spirits quite restored at
the thought of another adventure.

Horrified at the thought, Saissa pulled Maurina towards her. “Of course
you can’t go,” she said through her tears.

“Wait a minute, Maman,” Pons said. “That is not a bad idea. We can take
the pennant with us. De Montfort said it would protect us. There is something
ironic in the thought of his emblem saving Cathar
lives.”

Saissa was sad to see what war had already done to her son. All softness
was gone and in its place was a man hardened by things he had seen, who was
prepared to fight for what he thought was right.

“Remember your promise to me and your father before you went to
Toulouse?” she said to him.

“Times are different, Maman. You know I will never seek to hurt anyone.
You and Papa and the elders have taught me well, but if I am set upon I will
defend myself.”

Saissa broke into fresh tears, unsure if she was sad at Pons’ flat
statement, which contradicted the teachings of their church, or happy that he
would try to protect himself.

During their conversation, Maurina had changed into more suitable
clothes and she now appeared at the doorway, ready to go. “We must try to
contact Arnaud first of all,” she said firmly. “Come on, Pons, let’s go.”
Kissing her still protesting mother, she dragged her brother out of the door.

“Here, don’t forget this!” Braida came to the door flourishing the hated
emblem on which their lives might well depend.

Maurina took it from her and put it around her shoulders like a shawl,
and the two set off on their perilous journey to save as many
perfecti
as they could.

Alas, it would be a wasted effort. Already the eighty soldiers who had
fought so valiantly to save Lavaur had died ignoble deaths. They had first been
strung up on gibbets, but the hastily constructed instruments of death had
collapsed under their terrible burdens. The soldiers, many of them still alive,
had their throats unceremoniously slit as they lay in a tangled heap under
piles of broken wood. The area in front of the chateau had taken on a surreal
atmosphere, one that could only exist only in the worst of nightmares. With
deadly efficiency, the Devil’s soldiers had driven stakes into the ground to
form a huge square, inside which they piled faggots of wood and brush ready to
be lit.

By the time Pons and Maurina arrived at the chateau, a huge crowd had
already gathered. These people, who had already collectively sworn their
allegiance to Holy Mother Church and would suffer no further punishment, had
remained to witness the fate of those who had gladly given themselves up to the
Crusaders. These men and women—about four hundred of them— said
they would never renounce their beliefs as Cathars and were ready to die for
those beliefs. One could only wonder at the strength of a faith that would
allow them to welcome such a painful death.

The expectant crowd stood in front of the chateau, which had fallen so
easily into the hands of the soldiers. Due only to the grace of one of the
crusader knights, the serving women of Girauda—the chatelaine—had
been allowed to escape with their lives. However, their mistress was not so
lucky. It was said she had been turned over to the common soldiery for their
sport. No one knew if this was the truth or not, but the rumours abounded.
Girauda was famous far and wide for her charity. It was chiefly because of her
that de Montfort had made his largest haul of heretics so far in his campaign
in Lavaur. As Simon’s army advanced, the heretics had fled to what they thought
was safety in a Cathar stronghold where they now found themselves trapped.