Capcir Spring (20 page)

Mary's untroubled sleep lasted only a while for she soon felt herself being roughly manhandled. It was all dark and strong hands grabbed my upper arms and half carried half dragged me out a doorway and across rough stone ground and then I am lifted and thrown onto the back of an ox cart. My hands are tied tightly behind my back. The roughly hewn planks of wood were covered thinly with straw. But it was hard, very hard. And it is still very dark. There are small torches, naked flames, bobbing around me, but mostly they were out of vision. The cart started to move. It rocked and swayed rhythmically with the strides of the oxen. The wheels crunched over stones and gravel and then moved more quietly, as if travelling over grass or leaves. But it wasn't quite so dark now. Against the night sky I could begin to make out the shapes of overhanging trees. And as I looked up towards the sky there was a definite lightening. It would soon be dawn.

We were going up a track and we were now some way out of the village. From the slope of the cart we were definitely moving uphill. I had been pushed into the cart so that I was lying on my side. I wondered if I struggled and wriggled I could perhaps manoeuvre myself around into a sort of sitting position. The ropes round my wrists were very tight and as I moved the rope seemed to cut into my flesh. But if I were more upright I might be able to see something of where I was. As I moved my foot touched something soft and there was a squawk. I pushed with my foot again, more gently this time and twisted my body around to look down in that direction. In the pre-dawn twilight I could make out the shape of a pile of rags on the other side of the cart.

Almost immediately I seemed to realise that it was the poor helpless mute creature that had spent the night with me in the cell.

The woods were thicker than I remembered and there were no chalets or indeed any buildings, which is not how I remembered any of the tracks up out of the village. There were only trees woods and small clearings where I could begin to make out goats grazing in the early morning gloom. The shadowy figures were walking ahead and behind me, but none were near enough for me to make out anything on them but shadows. Slowly very slowly we all made progress up the track and all the while the light was getting slightly brighter.

Eventually the cart came to a halt and we are in a clearing. I looked up and recognise the familiar rock formations of a cliff high above us and realise we are somewhere very close to the old chapel. From the slightly higher position I had managed to drag myself up to I can see all round and there indeed is the chapel, or at least the remains of it. The roof has been burned off and the wooden buildings around it are all smouldering ruins. The shadowy figures near to me are now clearly village people in their rough clothes. The heap of rags alongside me on the cart has not moved and I would not have known it even to be alive let alone a person but for the occasional wails and grunts that it emitted. There are no words exchanged between the peasant folk as they stand around the cart in the glade. All are silent, seemingly fully engaged by the task in hand. The only noise is coming from the increasing numbers of footfalls into the clearing. The stench of the recent fires still hangs heavily over the whole valley.

It is only then that I realised what an enormous procession of people there are following on behind. Perhaps the occupants of all the villages on the plateau have been roused and commanded to follow on foot. Behind them are riders on horseback carrying lances, with long swords at their sides and dressed in a livery that I was sure that I had seen before. Following the riders was, strangest of all a richly embroidered litter carried by four strong men. The litter is small but the velvet curtains have elaborate patterns embroidered on them of red and blue and gold. The sun must be about to rise and the brightness of the tapestry work contrasts with the dull woodland colours all around. The livery, of course it was what the inquisitors soldiers wore. Was he in the litter. No there he was to the rear, silent and alone, dressed as before in black. The riders dismount and without seeming to give any orders start bidding people to make a great pile of bundles that all the village people had been carrying. They are bundles of sticks and faggots. Other villagers cut branches from the trees and add them to the pile. They are building a huge bonfire. Others are collecting unburned wood from the ruins of the settlement. The pyre reached high into the sky and at the top was hammered a vertical stake. The construction work complete the crowd gathered around the carts, still maintaining an almost dignified yet at the same time eerie silence.

The inquisitor must have been in charge for he just made the briefest of nods at one of the liveried soldiers and they moved to come to the cart. The crowd of peasants parted silently to let them through. They reached into the cart and grabbed me by the shoulders and legs with a firm grip. Firmly but not roughly I am lifted off my feet and carried through the crowd to the now huge heap of wood.

There was a sort of ladder on one side of the pyre and they dragged me up this and I was tied tightly with ropes to the upright stake.

I felt calm. It was strange. Here was the most terrifying thing imaginable happening to me and I really felt at peace.

The pitiful creature was then lifted and manhandled out of the cart. It made grunts and screams of an uncanny kind and it struggled relentlessly but uselessly against the soldiers. It continued struggling and moaning even after it had been tied, slumped, to the stake and left beside me. I, by contrast stood erect, surveying the crowd at my feet. And what a mighty throng there was to watch. The mute one's face was a picture of sheer terror and its shrieks and grunts became a series of abominable noises, which echoed through the hills.

There was still no sound from the gathered crowd. It seems as if an air of silent expectancy has fallen on it. And there were no moves to light the fire.

The rich crimson and gold curtains to the litter twitched and were pulled aside by a hand wearing a heavily bejewelled ring. It is a soft and fleshy hand, pink and chubby in the increasing early morning light. I watched entranced the drama unfold. From the hidden depths of the litter someone unseen looked all about him through a chink before the curtain was pulled completely open from within. A short, dark and rotund figure in a richly embroidered Episcopal robes climbed out, rich maroon satin slippers incongruous on the damp dewy grass. At once a figure dressed in livery ran up to him, bent over and kissed the ring and then after bowing deeply put a mitre on the bishops head. The bishop turned and reached back into the litter and pulled out a gold handled crozier and leaning on it without looking in the direction of the pyre walked in a purposeful and dignified manner away towards the ruins of the settlement. An acolyte carrying a large wooden crucifix led the procession. Priests and others followed him in robes and at last came the bishop, followed by a clerk reverently carrying a large bible. The crowd of villagers watched them pass by obviously in awe of the Bishop's presence.

They wound their way into the ruins of the chapel and then I caught the sound of Latin chant. The Crucifix was fastened into the ground in an upright position. Prayers are being said. They are prayers of de-consecration, prayers of re-consecration and prayers for the salvation of my immortal soul. I cannot of course make out the words of what is being chanted but in my mind the meaning is very clear.

And then came a sermon. The bishop had a high tenor voice and his words carried clearly to me and I understood every word he said.

"In my brief homily today I will tell you of the evil of these heretics. They claim to be good Christians yet they do not acknowledge their mother the church. They claim that they are persecuted as Jesus Christ was persecuted by the Pharisees. How dare they liken their filthy selves to our blessed Lord? They claim that the priests and bishops of the church are evil and they call us false prophets but with the authority of Rome behind me I ask you what is false? They have rejected all the sacraments of the church, especially the Eucharist which they say cannot possibly contain the body of Christ. Our most holy sacrament has been ignored and rejected. They claim that baptism is useless, as water is corrupt. Do they not recall that this practice also stems from the very pages of Holy Scripture. Our Lord was baptised and the instructed people to follow by baptising others. They claim confession is worthless as the priests are unclean. They refuse to bow before the cross of Christ as they say a gallows should not be exhaulted. So it is to this God forsaken Valley today we bring this crucifix to remind you all of the one who is the Lord of heaven and Earth. Moreover they read from the Gospels and the Epistles in the vulgar tongue, applying and expounding them in their favour and against the Church. Such is the height of blasphemy.

"They are false witnesses and they have deceived many good souls. They are beyond our forgiveness for they make no effort at repentance. They may not swear or lie or speak evil of others or even kill anything neither man nor beast but doing all these things and rejecting Jesus Christ the one who gives life assures them of their place on the slippery pathway to eternal damnation.

"May Almighty God have mercy on their souls."

The service seemed to be over with these words. All the voices had now fallen silent and the sun was almost at the point of rising in the sky and the clearing was bathed in the pre-dawn light. Silence. It is a deep and awesome silence.

The people in the church ruins are kneeling in silent prayer and the village people are standing still and waiting for the next move.

A messenger, one of those who had been close to the bishop stood up and walked out to stand by the fire. He made the sign of the cross in front of the bonfire pile and then turned and nodded with a gentle gesture at the inquisitor.

This must be the signal the inquisitor is waiting for. He moved swiftly. He dismounted his horse in one easy movement and moved quickly across to the edge of the pile of faggots. There he turned and looked into the crowd behind him. At once a flaming torch is carried out and handed to him.

He bent over and lit the kindling nearest to him raising swiftly to his feet and moving round the whole enormous pile lighting it at regular intervals. The fire caught hold swiftly with a noisy cracking and a flying of sparks and pieces upward.

The pitiful tethered creature, whose screams had become subdued during the church service as if calmed by the rhythmic chanting, emitted an ear piercing wail of an intensity as yet unsurpassed. I stood still though feeling the heat, breathing in the smoke, feeling the warmth on the inside of my lungs. But still I felt compelled to utter no word or cry. Then as the amount of smoke increased my eyes started to water and it is becoming difficult to breathe. I seem to recognise that my last breath is almost upon me and I took a huge gasp and coughed out the words "Into thy hands O lord I commit my spirit". The light grows brighter and the heat warmer and warmer. And whiter and warmer. Until the light is pure white and the sweat is pouring out of every pore on my body.

But instead of terror there is peace. perfect, calm and unbelievable tranquillity.

The sun was pouring brightly into the bedroom. Mary and her bedclothes are again soaked in sweat but the sense of peace is still there. She lifted her head from the pillow and looked around the room. Nothing was altered. She got out of bed and moved across to the window. The world is waking up to its usual early morning rhythm, the flurry of activity outside the bread shop. but the peace still remains. Why? All her previous historical nightmares have left her terrified? She doesn't understand what has happened but goes to the shower. There is still some work to do at the ruin and this will definitely be the last day there. And today I will have a helper with me. The thought of who was going to be with her for the day produced a warm glow in her heart and a spring I her step as she jumped out of bed.