The Passion of Dolssa (42 page)

Bishop Raimon nodded in triumph as each person bowed before him. “Now, bring us the heretic,” he said, then pointed to us. “These four shall join her in hell.”

Rossinhol, el seu repaire

M’iras ma domna vezer,

E digas li·l mieu afaire

Et ilh diga·t del sieu ver.

Nightingale, oh, ease my cares.

Swift to my lady’s side, take wing.

Bring back word of how she fares,

Tell her my heart-sick suffering.

—Peire d’Alvernhe,

twelfth-century
trobador

HUGO

nce out of sight of the gathering at the beach, Hugo de Miramont ran. He didn’t know where. He only knew what direction he’d seen the cat go. Uphill, toward the countryside. He didn’t know where the cat’s journey had ended. But moments were all that were left now. Unless the tavern wenches had moved the girl out of his reach.

There was only a little light left in the sky. Speed, stealth, and cunning must lead him to his prey. It had to be tonight. It had to be now.

He scanned the horizon as he mounted the vineyard slope. All was murkiness now the landscape and woods, and far below, the dark, brooding sweep of the sea. From a limb he could not see, a nightingale’s song pierced the gloaming. Hugo stopped and calmed his breathing, then strained his senses for a sign, for a sound, a whisper.

A shadow moved. He turned and waited. It moved again. Toward him. He crouched along a leafy grapevine and watched it approach.

It
was
her. Triumph. A miracle. He waited until she was almost there, then rose to block her path.

She startled, then stepped back. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

“Dolssa de Stigata,” said Hugo, “you may not remember me, but I—”

“I do,” said she. “You’re my kinsman. From Papà’s funeral. You came and heard me preach. Then stood by and watched as they burned Mamà.”

She remembered him well. He wished she hadn’t. “But I—”

“It’s all right,” she told him. “I understand their power, and I understand fear.” She paused. “I can forgive you, now.”

Hugo seized her arms. “I don’t need forgiveness,” he said. “Come with me. This way.”

“No need for force,” she cried, then composed herself. “I will follow you. My Lord told me you were coming.”

Hugo halted. “He did?”

She nodded. “To bring me to the flames.”

Hugo paused to listen for other feet. “Then it wasn’t me he spoke of,” he said. “And we must hurry.”

“What do you mean?”

What to do? He knelt down before the young woman, pulled something from a pouch, and held it toward her.

In the twilight, Dolssa was forced to touch, more than see, what he held. He’d bought the fruits from a farmer in Bajas just the day before. Her fingertips brushed the velvet skin of two soft apricots.

“Oh.”

Her fingers rested upon the fruit, and upon Hugo’s skin. He caught his breath as the feel of her touch filled his body. Her scent was lavender and linen and the warmth of candlelight.

“Fly with me,” he whispered. “Maiden most pure. I can carry you far from danger.”

Her wide eyes beheld him in the darkness. Like lamps, they captured the glow of the rising crescent moon. Hope filled his breast. Every rushing breath fired him with strength and courage. She was here. Safe. He’d found her. If she would come with him, he could conquer all enemies. If she would be his, their souls together would enter paradise.

“All this time,” she said softly, “you . . .”

He nodded. His body was on fire with her closeness.

“All this time.” All the miles, all the hours, watching, waiting, hunting, pretending. God had heard his prayers and brought him to this moment. Here, with her, before their foes could find them.

Church bells rang from the distant tower of Sant Martin. What could they mean?

“Good Senhor,” Dolssa said gently, “my Lord delivered me from the flames in Tolosa, to bring me to this place and time, for purposes I don’t know. My time has come. He has called me to rise from my hiding place and face my enemies.”

No, no! Above all other foes, must he persuade her, too, to value her life?

“Donzȩlla Dolssa,” he whispered. “It was I who cut you free that night.”

He heard the intake of her breath. Her confusion and disappointment filled the air between them.

He had dismayed her.
Beast, to boast in this way!

“Surely delivering you was the will of God,” he went on, “as much as it was the deepest wish of my heart.” He bowed his head. “I could only save one of you. This was the choice she would have wanted me to make.”

They paused to hear voices ascending the hill, and with them, torches. In the distance, the glow of a large fire began to glimmer through the trees.

“I’ve watched you grow,” he pleaded. “Years before you were aware of me. Your father spoke often of you to me, and I grew to love you before I’d even seen the young woman you became. I’ve heard you teach. I see what light surrounds you. Holy maiden, you do not know what you are to me.”

He longed to embrace her, but dared not move.

She gazed back at him. “What do you want?”

“Only your happiness,” he said, “and safety. I can take you to Anglatèrra, where I have an estate. I can take you to the ends of the earth.”

Her eyes closed. She struggled.

He whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Of me.” He took a deep breath. “It is no use for me to pretend,” Hugo’s words rushed out, “that I would not wish for a chance to offer you my heart. But whether you would have me or no, I swear to you, maiden, that I would give my life to serve you, and to defend your right to live as you choose.”

Her lips parted. She turned aside slightly, and spoke. “Is this your will?”

She wasn’t talking to him.

Lights approached. Hugo didn’t fear them as much as he feared the answer Dolssa might receive. To have her safe in his reach at last, and fail . . . It couldn’t be borne.

Dolssa took Hugo’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Tell me,” she said, “how do my friends fare tonight? The sisters from the tavern. Are they in danger?”

Hugo’s heart broke.

She must ask him that.

Just one lie.

The trusting spirit at his side rested her arm upon his. Somewhere near was one who loved her even more than Hugo could, and whose eyes could read his heart.

He had come this far, so far to taste the bitter gall of defeat.

So be it, then. If he would keep his vow to serve her, then deliverance must belong to her beloved now.

“They are in danger, Donzȩlla,” he said. “When I left, the bishop had learned you were yet alive, and that the sisters had lied to conceal you.”

She threaded her arm more tightly through his. “Then you must lead me to them,” she said. “Would you do me the courtesy of bringing me there yourself, instead of this mob that’s so keen to find me?”

Hugo’s jaw set in a grim line. “With pleasure.”

Though that, God knew, was another lie.

BOTILLE

he bishop’s sentence echoed in my ears. I melted into the arms of my dear ones.

Before they came and took us, one moment, and one embrace more, for my Plazi, my Sazia, my darling
s
rres
.

And Symo.

He wrapped his arms around me.

“Never mind, Botille.” He spoke into my ear, and kissed it gently. “I knew from the first you’d be the death of me.”

I pulled away to look into his eyes, but he wouldn’t let me. He turned his face away, while his words sank down into my skin.
Symo?
Stubborn, surly Symo. Always vexing, always helping. Always there.

Mon Dieu.

What I might have felt, after the shock of it? All that might have been, there wasn’t time to know. He held me tight, and I wet his shirt with tears, until Lop returned with his load of wood, and rough hands pulled us apart.

How quickly does a fire fanned and fed by friends grow tall.

Dieu, bless Dolssa, and Jobau. Bless Mimi, my little cat.

And kill us quickly, for I can’t abide the thought of fire.

The sky slipped from lilac to purple to blue to black. The fire grew higher and higher.

The churchmen sang,

Accende lumen sensibus,

infunde amorem cordibus,

infirma nostri corporis,

virtute firmans perpeti.

It meant something like:

Lighten our senses,

fill our hearts with love.

Make our weak bodies

forever strong.