The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (24 page)

What Giraud did to the noblemen would enter the annals of history as one
of the most infamous acts of cruelty man would ever practise on his fellow man.
First he put out their eyes and cut off their ears and their noses. Then, in a
final act of cruelty, he had their top lips cut off so their live faces wore
the horrible unnatural fixed grin of death. Giraud then sent one of these
unfortunate men to Carcassonne for that the invading armies to see what
punishment would be meted out to them, should they be taken captive.

When Pons heard these tales, which were told to him with some gusto by
the soldiers he had encountered along the way, his stomach turned. He did not
wish to hear that men fighting for the cause of the heretics would do such cruel
things to their fellow man. He was certain that none of the
perfecti
would condone this behaviour on
behalf of their beliefs.
 
It was
too horrendous to be believed but it turned out to be the truth. The soldiers
themselves were not a bit put out by the warnings their enemies had sent. They
would fight all the harder to see that such an affair would not be repeated!

Listening to these stories, it was all Pons could do to keep his
emotions from showing on his face. He was beginning to recognise that if Simon
was the Devil and all his works, as the Cathars believed, then Giraud de
Pepieux—now a Cathar sympathiser—was every bit as skilful an artist
in the profession of death as was his enemy!

The trip to Fanjeaux taxed Pons more than he could have ever imagined.
True, he was in good physical condition, but his brain was in a whirl, trying
to accommodate what he had learned about wickedness—not only of the
Crusaders but also the nobles who fought on the side of the believers, Pons’
friends and his family! He had started out as an idealistic young man but was
now learning to accept that perhaps it was necessary to fight fire with fire.
He wondered what Arnaud and Bertrand Arsen would say were he to state his
thoughts out loud. He knew his parents would be horrified. Mindful of his
promise to them, he knew that whatever the provocation, he would never kill
another human being.

Pons managed to give the newly befriended soldiers the slip that night
after arriving outside the town walls of Fanjeaux. He had had a difficult time
resisting their blandishments to join their ranks without giving himself and
his mission away. After all, who in his right mind would not aspire to the
benefits of soldiering:
 
good
wages, good food, good companionship and, last but certainly not least, lots of
accommodating women? It was a young man’s dream life, all right!

He knew his erstwhile friends—good fellows, all of
them—thought he marched to the tune of a different drummer. They had
tried several times, without success, to interest him in the doxies who were
the camp followers. Because he had not succumbed to the doubtful charms of
these women, the young men had assumed that he preferred his own sex. Pons had
not attempted to disabuse them of their wrong assumption. (How could he have joined
their ranks and kept his beliefs?) He had attended mass with them in an effort
to keep their suspicions at bay, but he knew that once he admitted that his
religion forbade fighting, they would know too much about him. Best to keep his
mouth shut, he decided.

“Come in, my son.” It was Bertrand Arsen who opened the door to Pons’
timid knock. He had not been sure he had come to the right house and was
relieved when he entered the well lit room and found Arnaud and two other
perfecti
sitting on a long bench next to
a table. He made his obeisance to the men seated there and awaited their
blessing before he spoke.

“This is what you want, I think.” He withdrew the creased parchment from
his sleeve.

It took Bertrand only minutes to read it before passing it to the
others. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what is in it, do you?” he said,
looking at Pons.
Pons shook his head.
“Well that’s a good thing. Least said, soonest mended. That’s a proverb my old
mother taught me and it carries a deal of sense. Now, my boy, you look
completely worn out. We will have time tomorrow to talk before you go to
Esclarmonde. Take my advice and get as much rest as you can. Pamiers is a long
way away. “You must excuse us,” he continued, pulling out a straw palliasse and
laying it in a corner near the fire. “We have much to discuss arising from the
message you brought from Toulouse. The content does not concern you and you
have done well to get it here safely, but we must press on with our plans.”

They had not offered Pons as much as a drink or something to eat.
Knowing of their abstemious ways with food and wine, they only ever drank
water, Pons realised that tonight he would go to bed hungry. As hungry as he
was, he couldn’t help smiling to himself.
Oh
well
, he thought.
I suppose it’s no
great hardship to give up a meal for the cause.

The elders talked amongst themselves for the better part of an hour. The
contents of the parchment had not surprised them. In it Toulouse had told them
that Esclarmonde’s brother, the Red Count of Foix, had finally come over to
their cause and given up any pretence of fighting on the side of the Crusaders.
He had already fought de Montfort’s army in nearby Preixan, had taken back the
city and was, even now, marching on Fanjeaux. Toulouse had warned them to
escape to the mountains for safety. He had no doubt there would be another
battle on their doorstep sooner rather than later.

Chapter Seventeen

Occitania, South of France

Winter 1209 AD - Spring 1210 AD

Simon and Dominic

Simon and what was left of his army were drawing near to Fanjeaux. The
last few weeks had taken a terrible toll on his men, and the more than forty
fortresses, which had fallen to him like ripe plums early in the campaign, had
been, one by one, relentlessly taken back by the heretics and their supporters.
Both sides had committed atrocities, and now the news had come that the Count
of Foix had reneged on his promise to not take up arms in favour of the
heretical forces. It was yet another blow to Simon’s fortunes. When his messengers
reported the treachery of the duplicitous Count of Foix in Preixan, the town he
had previously helped de Montfort to capture, Simon became nearly apoplectic
with rage. He called together his council of war, who seeing his angry face
wearing the expression
 
with which
they were all too familiar, his knights were solemn as he spoke.

“We will carry out the systematic destruction of these people. We will
destroy their houses, their crops and their vines, and take their cattle and
whatever other livestock we can find. You will give no quarter. We must sap the
confidence as well as the food supplies of all those who do not recognize the
supremacy of the Church. We will allow those who recant of their heresy to
live. The others we will destroy. Is this understood?”

He looked hard at his soldiers before speaking again. “Is there anyone
here who does not understand what I mean? While I will not condone desecration
of our churches or the punishment of our clergy, anyone of them who can be
shown to have aided our enemy—indeed, any Catholic who can be shown to
have given any succour whatsoever to the damned heretics— must be
destroyed!”

Amaury, who had listened to this, felt his stomach contract. He knew
better than most what this war meant to his father. He had become a man driven
by an unnatural fervour for killing. His temper, ever short, now had an even
smaller fuse. How the youth wished for his mother’s return! Even at his age, he
recognised that she was the stability in his father’s life, the one person who
could calm his demons. He knew they were fighting a war but even he, champion
of his father that he was, was beginning to feel glutted by the number of
terrible deaths being meted out. They were not clean kills in the time-honoured
manner of war. The code of chivalry by which all battles had been fought had
all but disappeared in this war. His father was determined to win, whatever the
cost, but only now did he realise how far his father was prepared to go to gain
his own ends.

“Guillaume of Poissy and his brother were taken at Alaric and have been
murdered. We have lost Bouchard; he has been captured and I do not know what
fate has befallen him. Gaubert of Essigny died without being given the chance
to surrender. These people are like voracious animals, and that’s how we must
treat them—like the animals they are! We must take command of all the
major roads, which means all the strongholds that guard them must be made to
surrender. All the barons must be forced to do homage to me. I am their
overlord and suzerain, and they must be made to recognize that fact.”

Simon’s tone began to rise. Amaury knew it wouldn’t be long before he
lost control of his temper once more.

“If you please, Father, may I go now and make ready for tomorrow?”

Amaury’s request stopped Simon in full flood. Some of the others also
seized the opportunity to beg for permission to leave. No one relished being
near Simon when he was in this sort of mood! One by one they filed out of the
council chamber, relieved to be able to put a little distance between
themselves and their fiery leader

 
Their arrival in Fanjeaux
was met with some celebration as a great column of clerics, led by Dominic de
Guzman, came forward to meet them. The greetings were effusive as the important
members of each retinue were introduced to each other. Dominic called to mind
their last meeting at the dinner celebrating Simon’s friend Bernard’s wedding
several years earlier.

“I have heard that de Comminges has gone over to the heretics. Not that
that is any surprise,” Dominic stated bluntly.

Simon looked sadly at him. “Yes, Brother Dominic. Before this is over we
shall be fighting not only friend-against-friend but brother-against-brother.
What a sad situation we find ourselves in. And all because of the damned
heretics! Why can’t they accept the truths of Holy Mother Church?”

“I have seen and spoken to too many of them to know that they will never
do that. They would rather die than recant their beliefs. If it were possible
that our Catholic believers held a faith so strong, we should not be fighting
this war. I have seen with my own eyes how their elders live and teach by
example amongst those most poor and needy. They gain converts daily, and that
is one of the reasons I have begged the Holy Father to allow me to found a brotherhood
of mendicant preachers to go amongst the people as the
perfecti
do, to try to win back our people who flock to their
cause. Several good and holy men have joined me here to help in my work. It
will not be long before we have the backing of the Holy Father. And then we
shall see a change!”

Dominic’s face took on a fervent glow and his eyes fairly shone as he
spoke of the work his new brotherhood would begin. “Already I have founded a
convent a few miles away from here in Prouille where female believers may come
to be saved.” His face clouded over somewhat. “I must say there have been only
one or two women so far who have joined the convent, but it is early days yet.
There are many who will wish protection when they rejoin Holy Mother Church, if
only from their own families. There will come a time when the convent will come
into its own, of that you may be certain.”

Simon looked anything but certain. Suffering the recent losses of the
gains he had so rapidly made had wounded his pride. Whereas at first he had
attributed his success to Divine intervention, he was now uncertain as to how
he had lost God’s approval.

While they had been talking, Amaury had ridden up the line to join his
father.

“No need to ask who
you
are,”
Brother Dominic said in a manner that could only be described as jovial.
“Jovial” was not a word often attributed to the character of Dominic, but he
was plainly pleased by what he saw in Amaury, whose height and appearance so
closely mimicked that of Simon.

Simon looked fondly at his oldest son. “Yes, this is my son Amaury, who
will join us in battle. He wishes to win his spurs. Already the men find him a
good leader; several have flocked to join his brigade! When the time comes, on
the day of his knighthood, we will call upon you, Brother Dominic, to do the
honours for him. We shall have reason to be proud of him one day, of that I am
certain.”

Amaury dismounted and bowed to Dominic. What he saw was a man of medium
height with reddish hair and very piercing eyes—so piercing that Amaury
felt he could see right through him. He did not much like the feeling and
quickly turned to speak to his father.

“Father, I have news that may well cheer you. I have heard that Maman is
on her way back from the north with a large army of reinforcements and that
many heretics are running before her to hide in the mountains.”

“Good! The more who flee, the fewer there will be to foment trouble.
They do not fight, but what they do is more difficult to conquer. They are as
elusive as the early morning mist, disappearing just as you get close to them.”
He turned towards the cleric. “And now, if you please, Brother Dominic, if I
may quarter my soldiers in Fanjeaux for a short time, they would be glad of the
rest. Our battles will begin in earnest upon my wife’s arrival. There will be
no rest then, that’s a certainty!”

Dinner at the convent that evening was a frugal affair, based on
Dominic’s idea that food for the body was in no way as important as food for
the soul. Amaury could not suppress the look of disdain on his face when he was
served the thin gruel that passed for soup. For the brothers, it was something
of a party, unused as they were to more than one course at each meal. Even the
wine was better than usual in honour of Dominic’s influential guests.

At the end of a very sparse meal, everyone rose to go—the Brothers
to their interminable prayers; Simon to ensure his men were well-quartered and
fed and the horses taken care of;
 
Amaury to find some of his soldier friends, who would surely have
something left for him to eat. How the brothers managed their lives as
wandering mendicants with only a begging bowl to their names Amaury could not
imagine. Some of the postulants were as young as he was, and as tall and
strapping. He could not imagine the privations they must be undergoing or the
depth of faith that supported them in their endeavours.

After prayers, Simon and Dominic held a private meeting in the cleric’s
very sparsely furnished cell. Simon had to crouch to get through the door
opening; the cell had plainly been constructed for someone of less physical
stature than he. At first the conversation was in general terms, but each of
the men knew he was not there for a social visit.

Simon started the discussion in earnest when he told Dominic what his
campaign plans were and where he would be striking first. He would wait for the
weather to break a little and then, after Alicia had arrived with
reinforcements, would go first to Bram where he would settle a debt for an
incident that still rankled him. He did not disclose his plan to Dominic,
believing it best to guard his counsel in case the preacher tried to dissuade
him from his intended course of action.

He need not have worried. Future events would show that Dominic would
have had no intention of stopping Simon’s progress as he was making his way
through the beleaguered area of Occitania. What interested Dominic more than
hearing about Simon’s battle plans, however, was the bombshell that the
military leader dropped on him just as he was preparing to take his leave of
the Prior.
 

Casually, as he was leaving, Simon mentioned Arnold-Almeric’s quest for
the miraculous piece of linen that had disappeared so suddenly from
Constantinople. It was a well known fact that in the last few years Dominic had
set up a spy ring second to none. If the linen were in the area, Simon felt
sure that someone, somewhere, would have passed the information on to the
preacher. Dominic was dumbfounded when Simon went on to explain the importance
of the material, indicating the Pope’s belief that it was the shroud of our
Lord. The cleric denied all knowledge of the linen but was willing to take the
Pope’s word for what it was

Dominic’s eyes, which had threatened to droop earlier, suddenly began to
gleam as de Montfort filled in all the details he had been given. Although he
was at pains to tell Dominic that the search for the linen and, more
particularly, the
reason
for the
search, were to be kept secret, he believed that if Dominic’s wandering friars
could not ferret out the hiding place of the linen, no one would be able to. He
accepted Dominic’s offer of assistance, with the proviso that his friars be
told as little as possible and that they take a solemn oath of secrecy.

The weather that winter was not kind to an invading army. Simon had to
cool his heels around the town of Fanjeaux where he began to build more
permanent barracks for his men. Daily he expected the Red Count to attack, and
daily his army waited in vain. The rain and mists overhanging the mountains and
valleys in Occitania throughout the winter dampened everyone’s spirits. The
vapour had a way of creeping into the bones and staying there. No one could get
dry, even sitting by the roaring fires which were kindled to raise the men’s
morale.

As always happens, winter gave way finally to spring and the even more
welcome arrival of Alicia with the troop reinforcements sent by the Pope.
Although this army was not as imposing as the one Simon had first commanded, it
was nevertheless one that gave him a capacity for action he had been missing in
the previous few months. It mattered not that it was comprised of soldiers from
many areas and countries, who spoke differing languages.

Anxious as he was to gain back the territories he had so speedily lost
the previous year, he was eager to institute a veritable reign of terror. He
and his generals decided it would do no good to attempt to take back all the
chateaux and fortresses one by one. These people needed an example, and by the
Holy Cross, they would get one! Occitania would tremble at his onslaught!

Simon chose the town of Bram for his lesson to the people. Reinforced
with the Crusaders his wife had brought back with her, the size of his army had
virtually doubled. His excuse for the attack was that there was a French priest
hidden there who had, it was said,
 
betrayed the Crusader cause in Montreal by opening that town’s gates to
the legitimate Occitanian suzerain who had been previously dispossessed. Added
to this, Simon was still itching from the anger he had felt at the response Giraud
had made when his uncle had been murdered the autumn before. Not content that
Simon had punished the two knights responsible for the old man’s death, Giraud
had inflicted a terrible and bloody punishment on two of Simon’s other knights.
Now it was the turn of the Captain General of the army to wreak his revenge.