Stigmata (34 page)

‘You have two weak points,’ Philip said. ‘You draw your water from a well on the southern side. Is that your only source?’

‘That is a military secret, seigneur, which I should be foolish to divulge to a man whose loyalty is suspect.’

‘You do not have to answer. But you asked my soldier’s opinion.’

‘What is the other weakness?’

‘It is not the fortress itself; it is what is inside it. You will have to surrender the suburbs, probably on the first day, and then you will have even more people and animals inside these
walls. If the siege is prolonged you cannot feed them all. And they bring with them the prospect of disease.’

‘You are right, but it will not be a prolonged siege. Autumn is coming. These
crosatz
will serve out their forty days of war for the Pope, get their dispensation to heaven and go
home. They will not wish to spend the winter here. If they don’t have a quick victory as they did at Béziers and Carcassonne, they will soon tire of us. Besides, these people need not
be a burden. We’ll eat their sheep and their cows and teach the women and children to work the mangonels.’

He heard angry voices from below. He joined Raimon at the window. A tonsured priest stood on the church steps haranguing the crowd. It seemed the people were not happy with his sermon.
‘Who is that?’

‘The priest from the village. He has been beseeching them all to return to God’s good favour by throwing open the gates to the
crosatz
to prove there is no heresy here. But no
one believes that; they all know what happened at Béziers. Besides, this is not about religion. These
crosatz
have insulted our honour and taken our land. Even the Catholics hate them
now. They could have Moses himself leading the army and we would still slam the doors on him.’

‘How do you intend to stop them?’

‘This won’t be like Béziers or Carcassonne. For one thing, they have only a small part of their army here. And besides, storming a castle on a plain is one thing, but we have
mountains and cliffs at our back. See those fellows?’ He pointed to a band of routiers, Spanish by the look of them, on the south wall. They were well armed for mercenaries, with good French
coats of mail, but the bright red or green scarves around their throats and the gold rings in their ears marked them out as for-hire professionals. Their leader, a handsome brute with tight black
curls and a tattered leather jerkin, was laughing as he greased the strings of his bow. Philip had fought with such men before. They would cut out a man’s tongue and that same night burst
into tears when they talked about their mothers. Mad or godless, the lot of them.

‘The leader’s name is Martín Navarese. They are well paid and they are not going to surrender because they know what will happen to them if they do. The rest of the garrison
are all liegemen of the Trencavels or barons who have been dispossessed by the war and have nothing left to lose. Believe me, Montaillet will not be another Béziers.’

He stopped and listened. Even over the shouts of the preacher and the hecklers from below, they both heard what sounded like distant thunder. The
crosatz
were getting closer. ‘I
should persuade you to stay if I could. We could use a seasoned warrior like you.’

‘What good is a knight without armour?’

‘I can provide you with hauberk and helm easily enough.’

‘Good armour is expensive.’

‘The seneschal will not be needing his any more. Think of it as your wages for your good service to us.’

‘And I’ll need a good horse to ride out on at the end.’

‘You strike a hard bargain. Very well, but it won’t be a fine Arab like the one you had before.’

‘As long as it has four legs.’

‘Before you make up your mind, think about what you’re doing, seigneur. You could still get out of this.’

‘How?’

‘This is not your fight.’

‘I may be a northerner, but I am excommunicate. I cannot go back.’

‘What red-blooded fellow has not upset the Church from time to time? You could make your peace with the Archbishop. Besides, until now you have been fighting on your own account. Explain
the circumstances of your little misunderstanding, promise to make a pilgrimage and donate a little land to the see and they will forgive you soon enough. But once they’ve witnessed you on
these walls standing against them, you become a heretic and they will give you no quarter.’

‘So be it. It is a matter of honour now.’

‘Ah.
Paratge.
Well, that I understand. But remember, it is not easy to be
faidit
– dispossessed. Ask the men who share your straw tonight; they had castles once
too.’

‘I am decided. Show me this armour; I may have to take it to the forge to have it buffed and polished. I should not make my final stand looking worn or shabby.’

Raimon grinned. ‘Well, I have done my duty and given you fair warning, seigneur. I did not think a man who would ride alone against forty would be easily dissuaded from a fight. I am glad
you have decided to stay. I would rather have you on my side than theirs.’

It was a large family, five or six small children, all squatted on the ground under the eaves. An urchin, hovering close by, snatched half a loaf of bread from one of the
children and ran. Philip put out an arm and caught him by the ear. He took the bread from him and handed it back to its owner while the little wretch squirmed and fought him.

The man drew his knife. ‘I’ll cut off his fucking nose!’

‘If you do I shall have to cut off yours. Now address me as lord, thank me and go back to your family. I will take care of this.’

Scowling, the man touched his forelock, mumbled, ‘Yes, seigneur,’ and walked away.

Philip turned to the urchin. ‘Why do you do this, Loup? You must be the worst thief in the world, you’re always getting caught.’

The boy aimed a kick at him. ‘What do you care? You abandoned me!’

‘I did not abandon you. I helped you from charity, you ingrate. I am not your father and I am not your kinsman.’

‘I fucking hate you!’

Philip shook his head. There was nothing to be done with the lad. ‘Where is the woman, Guilhemeta?’

The boy nodded towards the church.

‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s sick.’

‘Let me see her.’

He released the lad, who led him grudgingly up the steps and into the church. Guilhemeta lay against the wall in the nave, pale and sweating. People stepped over her as if she wasn’t
there, just another bundle of rags without hope.

‘How long has she been like this?’

‘Since yesterday.’

‘Wait here, I’ll get you food and I’ll get you help. And don’t go stealing anything. You should try and keep your nose. It’s the only thing on you that knows how to
run.’

‘G
OOD PEOPLE OF
Montaillet. The crusaders are coming to rid us of foul heresy! We should throw our gates open to
them, or we will burn as they did in Béziers! It is our moment of Judgement! If we fail in our duty to God we shall know His holy wrath! Stay inside these walls and we ally ourselves with
the Devil. But if we open the gates and let God’s Host in, we will have nothing to fear! They only wish us to give up to them those who worship the Devil and scorn the one and true Holy
Church!’

Someone threw a cabbage. There was a scuffle at the front between an onlooker and one of the priest’s bully boys. Soldiers waded into the crowd. It was no time for a riot when they were
all preparing for war.

‘My brother-in-law is a
crezen
and so is my cousin! I’ll not let some Frenchman come here and butcher them!’

‘They’ve come here to loot us. They’ll rape our women and take our money no matter what we do!’

Fabricia stood with her father at the back of the crowd. He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘They’re right,’ he said. ‘If we let a wolf into our house we are the fools, not
the wolf. I don’t want to listen to this idiot any more.’

He had changed so much since she had last seen him. His skin was loose around his arms where once he had been all muscle; his eyes looked sad and tired; his beard had turned grey and he had
grown jowls. He seemed timeworn.

‘Where’s this fine nobleman of yours?’ he asked her.

‘I don’t know,’ Fabricia said.

‘I don’t want to be the one to say it, girl, but
faidit
or not, he’s still noble and he won’t think twice about you now he’s here among his kind
again.’

‘He still saved my life, so I won’t think badly of him.’

‘Well, he saved mine as well, me and your mother. Did he tell you that?’

She shook her head.

‘The
crosatz
would have slaughtered us all if not for him. So we should light a candle for him. But he is what he is, so you should not expect to see too much more of him.’
They stopped inside the nave and he put his hand on her arm. ‘I should never have sent you away to the monastery. It was a cowardly thing to do.’

‘You had no choice.’

‘I am sorry. It was a mistake. You are my daughter and I shall answer for it to God one day.’

They went back inside the church. It was in an uproar. Hundreds of men and women were crammed in, quarrelling over food and places to camp. There was a stench of sweat and sores and rancid
incense; the heat was like a wall. She involuntarily took a step back.

Trencavel’s soldiers were at work taking down the cross from the high altar; one even carried away the statue of the Queen of Heaven on his shoulder like the spoils of war. The long-winged
angels that had been painted in the high vault watched in shocked confusion.

Elionor sat against the wall with their few belongings, but she was not alone. There was a crowd gathered around her on the flagstones. ‘Who are those people?’ Fabricia said.

‘They have come looking for you,’ Anselm said. ‘Someone here recognized you and they all know who you are now. This one has a sick child; this man, his mother is dying. They
say they want you to help them.’

‘What should I do?’ she said.

‘Well, you can’t send them away. If you can end one person’s misery then it’s what you have to do.’

‘I thought you did not believe any of that.’

‘I don’t know what I believe any more.’

Someone shouted out Fabricia’s name and the crowd surged towards her. A murmur went through the church.
There she is, the saint of Saint-Ybars
. Fabricia wanted to run away.
Just
leave me alone, please!

But how could she? So she took the baby that was thrust into her arms, knelt down and started to pray. Soon more came.

And when she thought she was finally done, she heard a familiar voice in her ear. ‘When you’re finished here,’ Philip said, ‘will you come with me? There’s a woman
over here, her name is Guilhemeta.

She is very sick.’

‘Seigneur, I thought I should not see you again.’

‘Well, you were wrong. Now will you come with me, please?’

Fabricia said yes, she would come. She looked down at her gloved hands. They did not ache so much today, and there was no blood crusted into the wool. She wondered what it meant.

The people of Montaillet watched them leave: the priest on his mule, his mistress walking beside him, and a few supporters behind, those Catholics too pious or too terrified to
remain. Someone shouted out: ‘This is the first time I’ve seen a jackass riding a donkey!’ and there was jeering and laughter.

A woman, bolder than her neighbours, hawked in her throat, shot her head back and spat right in the priest’s face. Her saliva dribbled down his cowl.

The gates swung open, affording a fine view of the ridge below the town and the bright pennants and pavilions of the crusader encampment. They were already setting up their siege engines.

‘You are all damned!’ the priest shouted as his final blessing.

The gates swung closed behind him.

Anselm shook his head. ‘These priests make me ashamed,’ he said to Fabricia.

They walked back to the church. Elionor was sitting between Father Vital and his
socius
, speaking in whispers. Anselm did not seem surprised to see them there. ‘What do they
want?’ Fabricia asked him.

‘Your mother has asked to take the
consolamentum
,’ he said. ‘She wishes to be ordained as a
bona femna
.’

‘But why?’

He shook his head. ‘She has told me she wants to die in the faith she believes in and I have said I will not to stand in her way. How the world has turned for us, my little rabbit!’
She imagined she knew what he was thinking: three years ago he was a member of the guild in Toulouse with a fine house and a marriageable daughter.

Now look.

‘She does not care to wait for the moment of death to be perfected,’ he went on. ‘She says she wishes to purify her soul and live by the Rule. Your mother has been a heretic
for many years, Fabricia, you know this. She has always been an honest woman and now she wishes to be more so.’ He looked around the church. He had devoted his life to building houses for
God, such as this. Now the saints he had lived by all his life were gone, the cross too, loaded on to the cart that followed the priest out of the gates. Even his wife was preparing herself to
become a heretic.

‘I think it is the end of the world,’ he said.

F
ABRICIA AND
E
LIONOR
sat with their backs to the wall of the nave, staring at the saints painted on
the walls of the pillars, the vermilion and gilt peeling away. They were all that was left of the old icons now. On the high altar a small crowd had gathered about Father Vital and were on their
knees, praying the Our Father.

‘Papa loves you,’ Fabricia said.

Elionor reached out and took her hand. ‘I do not mean to hurt him with this – or you. I should have taken the
consolamentum
long ago, but for my family. But I have done my
duty to you both, and now I have to follow my conscience.’

‘But why now?’

‘I am tired of the world, Fabricia. Once I thought I should take the
consolamentum
only as I die. But what if it is sudden, what if there is not the time? I do not wish to come back
to this world again, despite all the joy you and your father have given me.’