The troubadour's song (16 page)

"Dire news, my lady. Do you think the others got away in time yesterday?"

"Let us hope so. But it bodes ill that they have come here. Sir Gaucelm did warn me. I just did not think it would be so soon." She pondered his words of yesterday, and felt a tremor.

But she stiffened her spine and took upon herself that mantle of confidence and calm that she had always worn as chatelaine. Just because she did not possess the demesne anymore was no reason to show fear. Her own people still looked to her for guidance.

She met Jean and Lucius in the musician's gallery where they gathered to speak in hushed tones behind a screen. She noticed that Lucius was unusually silent, and his face was pale.

"There is a way to escape this," she said. "I can send you through the tunnel to the woods ..."

"No," said Lucius, turning back from the small window that looked down over the stables where he had been watching grooms come and go. "They will know who is in residence here. Did not Sir Gaucelm's own men-at-arms escort us here? They know we will not run, for that would prove our guilt."

Jean sank onto a bench, looking glum. "Yes, I suppose that is true. We don't know what they want, but we had better be prepared to answer questions. There aren't enough of us to put up a fight."

"Let us hope that our friends have gotten safely away." She did not say it, but she did not want to stand and watch the parfaits being interrogated. For they would never recant. She forced herself to state the case as she saw it.

"The court will only mete out extreme punishments to those they know are heretics and who refuse to recant. They will ask

us to name friends, that is true. I have persuaded Sir Gaucelm that I know no such heretics."

Lucius stared at her. "That is noble of you, madam. But what will happen to you if it is found out that you lie?"

Her heart trembled with apprehension. "I will take care of myself. You both must act as you think best. I cannot tell you what to do. The Church wants converts. It is not in their interest to punish heavily those who have in their eyes simply erred."

For a long moment she and Lucius exchanged gazes. Then she took his hands and kissed him on both cheeks as a friend. No more was said, for noises below made them step back and watch silently through the screen as the bishop and his entourage entered the hall, followed by Gaucelm and Julian.

Tables, benches, and chairs were arranged as the bishop, dressed in white tunic and dalmatica of silver and gold threads, indicated with the flick of a long, thin finger what he wished. And then his clerk handed him one of a roll of parchments. He sat down in the high-backed arm chair and Gaucelm's men-at-arms slipped into the hall, staying near the edges of the room. More of the household had drifted into the hall to see what was going to happen, but they hovered at the back of the hall.

When all was arranged to his liking, the bishop spoke. His eyes glinted as he cast them about the room, and when his gaze passed over the screen, Allesandra felt a chill crawl down her spine.

"I am here on the authority of the Apostolic See to question those here about a number of persons suspected of heresy, living or dead. My authority comes from His Holiness in Rome as is delivered here in these documents, brought to me by these legates."

"And who on this list is present that you wish to see, my lord Bishop?" asked Gaucelm.

Bishop Fulk narrowed eyes and lifted chin so that his mitre tilted backward slightly. "The Catholic leaders in Muret have provided me with the first name on the list. Baron Georges Valtin."

From where she watched in the musician's gallery, Allesan-dra's hand flew to her chest and she drew in a breath. Her late husband. She staggered forward a step and had to brace herself against the screen. Jean's hand at her elbow steadied her.

Below in the hall, Gaucelm spoke calmly. "The Baron Valtin is deceased, my lord."

The mitre rocked forward and the chin lowered once. "So I understand. However, if he is proven to have been a heretic, then his lands are forfeit to the church." A thin smile followed.

A murmur traveled the length of the hall.

A muscle twitched in Gaucelm's cheek. Bishop Fulk must know very well that the lands he referred to now lay in Gaucelm's own hands, hard won by his campaign with Simon de Montfort. However, now was not the time to point that out.

"Have you proof?" he queried.

The bishop waved a sheaf of statements. "These were taken in Muret, where this court began. Many we questioned were reluctant at first to name heretics."

He glanced benevolently at the gathering of household members cowering on benches and standing at the back of the hall. His voice began to drone in patronizing kindness as he explained the generous view the Church was willing to take with those who had strayed, through no fault of their own.

"It is best to define what heresy is. In case there has been any misunderstanding through ignorance rather than evil, let me say that only one reading of the Holy Scriptures can be true. The Mother Church interprets the scriptures for the lesser educated in order to preserve and protect the fabric of Christian society. Therefore any deviation from orthodoxy is heresy." His voice boomed on the last word and then softened again. "But only if pertinaciously defended."

He paused to smile benevolently at the gathering. "Legally, one must first be instructed that his beliefs are not orthodox. Only after this, if one insists on defending them, may he be branded a heretic. Otherwise those beliefs are simply an error."

Behind Allesandra, Jean muttered an epithet. With a gesture she cautioned him to silence.

"For those who see their errors and recant," the bishop continued in a singsong voice, "a light penance is imposed. Especially if the saved one gives us names of others who have equally been led astray."

Allesandra's heart thudded in her chest. Jean whispered thoughts similar to her own into her ear. "He wants to trap us into condemning our friends," he hissed. "These elite churchmen care nothing for souls, but rather for those whose property is worth confiscating. They are the devils."

"And?" inquired Gaucelm below. "So that those present understand the consequences, if one is convicted for following the heresy and continues to do so? What then?"

Fulk folded his hands in his lap and looked pleased to explain. "Isolation in order to give them time to reconsider. And fines of varying degrees."

"I see," said Gaucelm. "And in the most extreme cases?"

"Property is seized, of course."

The room was quiet, and Allesandra was aware of the tension felt all around. She put a hand on Lucius's shoulder to give it a squeeze. He covered her hand in response, but did not turn from staring through the screen.

"Lucius," she said, looking up at him. "You must do what you think best."

Only then did he turn his head and gaze down at her with a worried look. "Do not concern yourself about me," he said softly but firmly.

Then she swept down the stairs and entered at the back of the hall as Bishop Fulk again raised the issue of her late husband. Allesandra only took a moment to take a breath and steady her nerves. Then she moved forward slowly. Those she approached parted until she stood in the hall. Gaucelm turned from the bishop and strode toward her. His face was hardened, and she could read no expression there.

"Here is the lady Allesandra Valtin," he said, offering a hand to lead her forward.

She kept her back straight and walked forward until she was a small distance from the bishop. "You wished to question me, my lord bishop?"

Bishop Fulk gave her a long, intimidating look and then slowly lifted the parchment to read from it. She knew he was doing it to irritate her. He already knew what lay therein. However, she waited patiently, determined to show no emotion. Finally he dropped the parchment to his lap.

"Was your husband a Cathar, my lady?"

She heard small gasps coming from women in knots in the recesses of the room. She willed them all to keep silent.

"I don't know what you mean, my lord."

"Oh? One would think a husband discussed his religious beliefs with his wife. Or was your marriage one of no intimacy at all, not even verbal?"

"My lord," said Gaucelm stepping forward. "I am as interested to ferret out the straying lambs in your flock as you are. But surely you'll allow this lady the dignity—"

"Silence!" Bishop Fulk's hand went up. "You have no experience interrogating, and this is not your business."

Then in slightly softer, more oily tones, "I will forgive the interruption since you have not had these dealings in your household before. But I advise you to keep silent, sir. Otherwise your interjections will look oddly as if you are in defense of those I question. I must ask this lady about her husband's behavior even including intimate details of their marital life, for the very reason that these reveal much about what a man believes."

Gaucelm's jaws clenched, but he said no more. Allesandra looked back into the bishop's face. "My husband spoke to me of religion," she answered evenly. "That is true. He was no Cathar."

"Is that so?"

"It is so."

She marked Bishop Fulk for what he was and stared into the

conniving eyes. She saw the malicious glee he took in making her speak of her relations with her husband. But she was not so proud as to risk punishment for mere prudery. She would not let this greedy churchman who sought control to succeed in humiliating her. She knew what he wanted to know and she said what he wanted to hear. A Cathar parfait who had taken the rite of consolamentum pledged a life of chastity. Her anger fortified her.

"My husband and I had proper conjugal relations."

"But you did not conceive?"

"No, I did not. He was away much of the time."

"Then he did not abstain?"

"As I said, my lord. When my husband was home, I served him as is a wife's responsibility. We took joy in it. He ate meat as well."

The listeners gasped and murmured, but still she faced the bishop staunchly. She felt Gaucelm's burning gaze. She shook inwardly, but she was mentally prepared for whatever might be thrown at her.

"Hmmm." He turned to another line of questioning. "I have testimony by your husband's friends saying what they heard the baron your husband utter as to his faith. Shall I read it to you?"

"If you like, my lord." She managed a pleasant smile as if whatever he was about to reveal was new to her.

He picked up the parchment again. "Several deacons were secreted nearby to overhear the following conversation between Baron Georges Valtin and his kinsman Castronovo of Muret. Castronovo showed the baron his hand and asked if the flesh will rise again; the baron said that the flesh will not rise again. Only a spirit. If it is to be saved, it will pass into another body to be born again and complete the penance."

"I never heard him say thus to me," she said to the bishop with conviction.

"Is that so? And did he not condemn the practices of the Roman Church, the unintelligible chanting, alms for the dead?"

Suddenly her husband's voice echoed in her head, telling her

how all the singing in Latin deceived the simple people. She could not help but shut her eyes for a moment, but she opened them again quickly. "No, my lord. I cannot recall him ever saying so."

"Do you swear it?"

"I swear it."

A hush fell over the court. A Cathar would not swear, for oath taking was prohibited in the Gospel. And if she swore to whatever the bishop wanted her to say, this above all else would convince him.

He studied her. Then with a flick of the wrist, he gestured that his clerk should carry forward a heavy, bound copy of the scriptures, which he placed on a lectern.

"Approach then," Fulk challenged her. "Place your hand on the scriptures and swear in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, that these things are true."

A thin sheen of perspiration broke out over her skin, but she stepped forward and placed a hand on the leather book binding. Her voice was low, but firm. She swore. And then she turned and walked slowly to the back of the hall. Around her, voices conversed, whispered. Bishop Fulk exchanged words with the legates, and then just as Allesandra was drawing breath, he boomed out the name of the next person he wished to interrogate.

"Lucius Hersend, if you are present, as we believe you are, come forward to answer to the Apostolic See."

Her heart clenched as Lucius and Jean appeared together in the arched doorway. Jean came to assist her to a seat before she fainted, but Lucius strode purposely forward.

"Well done, my lady," whispered Jean.

"I lied," she whispered, her words covered by the buzz of conversation as Lucius made his way forward.

"It does not matter," Jean reassured her. "God will understand."

She placed her head in her hands as Jean stood to get a better view. But even seated behind onlookers, she could hear what the

bishop said to Lucius, who now stood to reply to the barbed questions.

"Lucius Hersend, you stand before us accused by those who know you as a follower of the Cathar belief. Is this true?"

"I am no Cathar, my lord, though I was raised among them."

"And when the count of Toulouse agreed to expel heretics, why did you not do anything about it on your lands?"

Allesandra peeked through an opening in the crowd and saw Lucius straighten his shoulders. "We cannot expel all those who deviate in the way they believe, my lord. Many do not care for dogma, but they speak out against clergy who wear gleaming rings and raiment. Such display can hardly be expected to persuade poor villagers back into the fold."

The crowd rumbled and gasped.

Allesandra stared as Lucius's voice rose. "It is hypocrisy that the people in my town decry."

What followed surprised her. The bishop posed a question in Latin, and Lucius answered. She had enough Latin to follow it herself, though she knew that many present did not. Fulk questioned Lucius on many points of Christian doctrine, and to her relief, his answers were orthodox.

Finally, one of the legates brought forth a reliquary containing bits of bones of the saints. "And will you swear to your orthodox faith on these relics?" asked Fulk.