Beasts of the Seventh Crusade (The Crusades Book 4) (9 page)

"Leave him. If any Cathars come through this area, they should see what their enemy does," Raul said.

"I could've killed all of them, father. I know I could," Artois suddenly said, breathing deep and puffing out his chest.

"Yes, son, perhaps. You cannot kill what they believe, however. Remember that no matter how many of the enemy you kill, you will never change the things they believe. Ideas have a way of surviving wars, concealing themselves in the hearts and minds of people. Do not linger on what you have witnessed today; there are plenty of enemies in the world for you to kill."

Francois and Artois smiled grimly. The king of France, Louis IX, wanted to bring his people together and take them across the sea. He wanted to kill thousands of Muslims, supposedly to protect Christianity in Europe. But how can you protect a religion that is divided unto itself? Why would the Cathars support the Seventh Crusade, if they were only expected to return to France and be persecuted by the church? In his heart of hearts, Francois believed that they would not be going on the Seventh Crusade.

They reached the far side of the basin, eager to reach Béziers and locate Christof. During their nearly month-long journey into southern France, Raul skirted opportunities to speak of his brother, saying Artois and Francois could make their own assessments of the man. The more demolished homes and mass graves that they passed, Francois thought that Christof must be a very tough man, hardened by the life of a rebel. Over the next day, the slow process of restoration began to take place before their eyes. Homes were rebuilt, fields ploughed, and fewer corpses lying in the open.

The town of Béziers was six miles from the Mediterranean Sea, and the trio could taste the salt in the air as they neared the ancient town. A mighty river named Orb looped around the city, creating a natural moat along the western wall and providing trade opportunities for the local merchants. Francois approved of the location of Béziers, easily defended and intended to flourish. Béziers had been mighty once, a place of wealth and value.

Within shouting distance of the city walls, Francois became aware of utter silence. A city such as this should have created a dull roar that could be heard for miles, but there was nothing. There were no men talking, children playing, or dogs barking.

"Nice place," Artois said. "I don't suppose there will be any pretty lasses in this stink hole?"

"Can you think of nothing but your prick?" Raul said irritably. It seemed that the closer they neared the heart of Catharism and meeting his brother, Raul became withdrawn and surly. He spoke only to criticize or chastise, as if he was drawing into himself and dispensing the poison, uncomfortable with his developing circumstances.

The men reached the outer wall of Béziers. The grey, granite stones looked soggy, as if they were rotting, and green tentacles of vines and ivy decorated the lower half, showing the city's age. There was one gate on the northern wall, and it was taller than three men and wide enough for two carts and wagons to go in side-by-side. The gate was closed, its latches sealed by heavy logs on the inside. With sudden impatience, Raul banged his fist against the gate.

"Open up! We're in need of food and shelter!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls and back into the countryside. After a moment, a voice sounded from above.

"Are you Cathars?"

They looked up, but the owner of the voice was hiding behind the parapet, undoubtedly with an arrow nocked to his bow. "No, we're just travelers," Raul answered.

"Are you armed?"

"Yes, man, of course! How else would you expect us to travel?"

"What is your business in Béziers?"

"We're passing through, meeting a relative at the coast tomorrow. We just need somewhere to sleep."

There was silence for a moment, and the gate before them shuddered. Bits of debris fell from the walls as the gate was pulled open, and they could hear men groaning in exertion from the inside. After another moment, the inner courtyard was exposed and the smell of Béziers hit them like a physical force. It was the stench of poverty, potent and corporeal.

"State your names and business," a hefty soldier said, approaching them. He wore greaves and a helmet, with a long sword scabbard on his hip. He was Raul's age, or perhaps a bit older. He stared at the Coquets menacingly while Raul answered his questions in curt, monosyllabic words. It was almost insolent, and Francois prayed Raul's temper did not land the three of them in trouble. After the customary interrogation of newcomers to Béziers, the man only had one more question. "Are you three joining the King's Crusade? It is sailing in August, only three months from now."

"Yes," Raul answered immediately. He pointed a finger at Artois, "Do you think the king would let a man like this avoid the war?"

The man looked Artois up and down and smiled, "He's a big one, all right. Well, my lords, your stories check out. Welcome to Béziers."

The atmosphere of the courtyard was tense. It was not a recent tension, caused by the arrival of the Coquets, but a perpetual tension caused by the king's soldiers and the local populace. There were not many soldiers, perhaps fifty, but they looked angry and tired, standing on the parapet or by the barracks, watching the people distrustfully. Conversely, the citizens cast murderous eyes at the unwelcome soldiers. They were filthy and tired, sick of the occupation of their homes by the royal troops.
What did they expect,
Francois wondered,
when they rebelled against the king and church?

The trio went down the first road on their right. It was cobblestone and there were more standing structures than piles of rubble—a good sign. On either side were taverns, inns, and private clubs; places of retreat for the locals, away from the watchful eyes of the soldiers. Raul chose a building with an arrow and hammers sign, and pushed open the sooty, wooden door. The interior of the inn was dark and smoky, and an attractive young woman approached them.

"How can I help you, gentlemen?"

"Well, I'm in desperate need of a—" Artois began.

"We just need a room for tonight, thanks," Raul said.

"For the three of you? Two silver pieces. Do you want food and ale, as well? That will be two more silver pieces, seeing as how there are three of you," the girl said, smiling. She was blonde and short, with a heavy chest and clean skin. Despite himself, Francois couldn't stop staring at her. She was aware of her effect on men, too, and absentmindedly played with her hair while Raul fished the coins from his pack. After a moment, he paid her and she seductively curled her finger at them, indicating for them to follow.

Their room only had two beds, meaning Francois would sleep on the floor. The men sat and rested, their nerves relaxing from finally being indoors, with a roof over their heads and no bandits waiting to slit their throats in the night. They were more exhausted than they realized, and after a moment, the three men were asleep.

There was a gentle knocking on their door. Francois answered it, and it was the girl, carrying a steaming platter of beef and vegetables, as well as a pitcher of ale and three glasses.

"Thank you," Francois said, taking the food and ale. He wanted to say something more, and the girl was just standing there, smiling, as if she was expecting him to say something.

"Who are you?" she finally said, her breath hot. She let her fingers stray to her neck, where a bead of sweat was traveling south. Francois wanted to lick the sweat off her. Strangely, an alarm began to sound in his head. Why did she want to know who they were?

"We're just travelers, seeking a relative near the coast."

"What is your name?"

"Francois."

"And your last name?"

Francois didn't answer her. For reasons he couldn't explain, the girl's questions felt intrusive, suspicious. Was it his imagination? "Thank you for the food," he said lamely, closing the door in her face. Doubt set in immediately. That attractive girl wanted to get to know you, and what do you do? Shut the door in her face.

"Oh, but that smells lovely," Artois said, the aroma of the meat rousing him from unconsciousness. Raul also got up, rubbing his eyes.

"What did that girl ask you?" he asked Francois.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was. I heard her asking questions; what were they?" Raul sat down next to Artois, digging into the beef, broccoli, and carrots. He poured himself a cup of ale and drank deeply, not taking his eyes off Francois.

"She wanted to know our names."

"Did you tell her?"

"No."

"Sit and eat, I don't think we'll be staying in Béziers for much longer."

The Coquets were ravenous. The platter of food disappeared, mostly down Artois' gullet, while his father and brother watched in amusement. Artois, it seemed, was still growing, and he likely weighed as much as Francois and Raul combined. Not a great accomplishment, because Francois was lean and hard, while Raul was a comfortable medium between his sons. Raul was a match for Francois' intelligence, though, the result of a much longer life. After the meal, they all sat back and exhaled deeply. If a meal was truly good, you should be a little exhausted at the end. There was a knock at the door.

"Don't answer it," Raul said, freezing Francois in mid-step.

"Why not?"

"Use the window to get to the roof. Go to the front of the building and see how many men are on the street. They won't be dressed as soldiers, but they will be conspicuous, lounging near the door of this inn. I have been recognized, I think."

"Use the window?"

"Well, Artois can't do it! He'll fall and cause an earthquake, reducing the rest of Béziers to ruins! Now go," Raul snapped, sick of repeating himself. There was another knock on the door. "Go now," Raul said.

Francois could hardly believe his eyes when he reached the roof. His father was right. There were a lot of men by the door of the inn, cloaked and positioned on both sides of the street. A breeze picked up, and Francois quickly went back to the window, only to be pushed back out by Artois. Behind him, Raul was carrying their gear.

"What's happening—?"

"I thought that big bastard at the gate looked familiar. He was part of the original attack on Béziers, and I should never have given him my first name. There are men at the door, eager to drag us before the Inquisitors."

Once they were situated on the roof, Raul peered over the front ledge at the waiting men. There were too many to fight, so they had to escape Béziers. They were not wanted criminals, but old feuds die hard, and Raul didn't want to waste days being interrogated by the leader of these fools. Better to just escape and settle the score at a later time. Below him, the old boards of the roof quaked as the men banged on the door. The damn thing would probably break soon enough.

"Where do we go?" Francois asked.

"Do you two trust me?" Artois suddenly asked. He alone never seemed to be afraid or rushed. He was a problem solver, usually because his solutions were simple displays of overwhelming strength.

"Yes," Francois said immediately.

"Yes," Raul echoed.

"There is a wagon filled with hay on the next street over. If we can get there, the jump down won't kill us. We'll be out of Béziers before they even know we went out the window."

Raul made a snap decision, "Lead the way, Artois."

They plodded along on the old roof, thirty feet above the streets. From this vantage, the world seemed so clean, so open. The sky was blue and spring had truly arrived, with the birds singing and everything green. Francois marveled at the beauty of nature, so different from the ugly stain that was the city of Béziers. After a minute, they reached a gap between the buildings. It was only a few feet, but Francois' heart was pounding as he looked down. He could imagine the curious villagers, crowding around the body of the young fool who thought he could fly.

"Francois, you're first," Artois said.

"What, why?"

"You're the lightest. You need to test those far boards, make sure they'll support my weight. Also, if you can't make the jump, I'm not even gonna try," Artois answered. Despite himself, Raul let out a snort of laughter.

"Halt! In the name of King Louis and the pope, halt!" a voice yelled from behind them. Their escape through the window had been discovered, and men were swarming the roof.

"Go now!" Artois said.

Heart pounding, legs rubbery, Francois backed up a few steps. He fixed his gaze on where he wanted to land, and with naught else to do, took three fast strides toward the ledge. On the last step, he launched himself into the air.

He reached the other side easily, with a few feet to spare. The roof was stronger there, too, much stronger than the old inn's rotting boards. "The roof is strong; now come on!"

Raul made the jump next, barely reaching the roof. He looked like he might have an episode of chest pain when he landed. He was on his hands and knees, eyes shut tight. Francois patted his back. "Father, we must keep moving."

"Artois?"

Francois looked across the expanse and his heart sank in his chest. Three men had reached Artois, their blades drawn. Artois held his hands out wide, inviting the men to come close. "I'm unarmed, cowards," Artois spat.

The largest of the three stepped forward and put a hand on Artois' shoulder. That was a mistake. Artois covered the man's hand with his own meaty paw, and he spun the fool around and lifted him in the air like a child. The other two started to rush forward, and Artois threw their friend at them, felling all three. Francois watched in horror as the men, unable to regain their footing, tumbled off the roof. They landed with sickening thuds on the street below. For his part, Artois didn't wait for anyone else to show.

He successfully made the jump between the roofs, and the three of them went to the opposite edge of the roof. The wagon of hay was where Artois said it would be, and they jumped down to it, no longer having a choice in escaping. They, Artois specifically, had killed or grievously wounded three men. If they were caught, execution was the only possible outcome.