The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (28 page)

Occitania, South of France,

Winter 1210 AD - Spring 1211 AD

Arnaud, Pons and Maurina

The trek to Montsegur was difficult as winter approached. There was snow
on the mountaintops, and the many mountain streams that had to be crossed were
already frozen at the edges. The route that Arnaud, Pons and Maurina had been
obliged to take had brought them worryingly close to the action at Puivert.
Whereas Arnaud had thought it possible to take some rest in the small village
below the chateau, he quickly reconsidered this idea when Pons pointed out that
some of the soldiers there might recognise him.

Although Maurina had made a valiant attempt to keep up with the two men,
it was her blistered and swollen feet that finally made them call a halt in
their great rush to reach Montsegur safely with the linen. They were obliged to
take shelter in a rundown hovel that had been abandoned by its former shepherd
owner.

Arnaud treated Maurina’s burning feet with a soothing paste made of wild
amaranth flowers. Then, while she rested comfortably, he attempted to coax some
life into the wet faggots of wood that Pons gathered. They were soaked having
lain scattered about the mountainside since the last wintry storm. He had
collected enough wood to last through the night, and after several attempts, a
fire of sorts was eventually lit—although it gave out more smoke than
heat. Water collected from a raging torrent, which, in summer would have been a
gurgling mountain stream, soon produced enough boiling water to make a
vegetable soup. By the time they had finished eating, the small room was
appreciably warmer and Maurina’s eyes began to close.

Arnaud pushed the sack containing the linen towards the girl.
 
“Here, you might as well use this for a
pillow. It still has the herbs in it and you may as well make yourself as
comfortable as possible. We should press on tomorrow. Apart from other dangers,
the sky looks threatening to me and I shouldn’t wonder if it snowed at this
level soon.”
 
He sniffed the air as
though the forthcoming snow might have a scent of its own.

Just after daybreak the next day, they were woken by the sound of voices
coming up the track near their makeshift shelter. Arnaud quickly bundled the
sack containing the linen into one of the packs they were carrying and warned
Maurina to say nothing. He and Pons went outside to meet the strangers. They
were glad to see there were only two of them and that they were afoot. They had
been dreading the appearance of some of de Montforts plundering
routiers
and were relieved to see their
visitors were two young men, one of them younger than Pons, both of them
dressed in country homespun.

“
Bonjorn
!” The cheerful
greeting called out in their native O
c
served to allay the small group’s fears that these two might be spies for de
Montfort.

“I am travelling from Montsegur,” the younger one said, shivering, “but
the road is lonely and we are having difficulty finding shelter. We have been
walking all night, afraid to stop in these mountains. We have been told the
wolves are particularly hungry at this time of year!”

“Come inside. I am afraid we have little food to offer, but the fire is
still alight and it’s warmer inside than out.”

Gratefully, the two young men entered the hovel, rubbing their hands as
they knelt by the now dying embers of the fire. Maurina made to stand up
awkwardly, her feet still very painful. The newcomers noticed her for the first
time and the younger one of the two moved from the fire to help her.

“This is my daughter,” Arnaud said. “And this is her brother.” He did
not elaborate on the relationship, believing that to do so might complicate
matters. “Her mother thinks she will be safer with her uncle in Merens than
here near the fighting. We are travelling there before winter arrives.”

“I am Paul Maulen. This is my friend Guy. We met a few miles back and
decided to walk together over the mountains. Where have you come from?” As he
spoke, the elder of the two newcomers looked at Pons curiously.

“We live in Lavaur and we’ve been travelling for nearly three weeks. We
cannot travel fast because of my young sister here.”

“I know you!” the elder newcomer exclaimed. “I met you once near
Fanjeaux. What happened to you? You disappeared so quickly we thought you were
dead!”

Pons felt his stomach turn. What he had dreaded most on this
journey—beyond even the fears of wolves and bears—had indeed
transpired. He had bumped into one of the soldiers he had met on his first
mission for the Count of Toulouse. “I went to see my family.” The excuse
sounded lame, even to Pons himself.

“Ha!” the young man said with a sly wink. “We thought you had a paramour
hidden away somewhere, if you know what I mean!”

Pons knew only too well what he meant. All the soldiers he had been with
had been convinced he was a sodomite because he never made use of any of the
camp followers, wouldn’t join the army and had kept strictly to himself. Being
unable to explain why he did not take part in the roistering to his soldier
companions had made his life difficult. However, he had been happy to let them
to think what they wanted; it had taken some of the pressure off his mission
and allowed him some peace. Now what would he say? How would he explain his
sudden disappearance? He hadn’t said so much as a goodbye, and they had been a
good crowd of men!

It was Arnaud who saved him from more explanations. “We must leave
soon,” he said. “I don’t want to waste any daylight, and I think we’re due some
heavy weather.”

The younger of the two men spoke again. “I must get back to Puivert. My
family is waiting for me close by. They wish to be away from there and all the
fighting.”

Guy mentally crossed himself as he heard his mouth spout the lies he had
been accustomed to telling since he had begun his father’s quest for
information regarding the fabled linen cloth. His visit to Montsegur in search
of information had been a dismal failure. He could find no one who had even
heard of it—at least that’s what they all said.

He had discovered that the place below the fortress was a thriving
village with many artisans building new cottages on the mountainside. He knew
that many of the people were believers and that in all probability, a goodly
proportion of them were
perfecti
. He
found them to be a hard-working lot; even the winter weather did not dim their
enthusiasm for the tasks at hand. In order for him to earn his bed and board,
they suggested he join them in a little carpentry, and they had laughed
good-naturedly at his ineptness. When some of them viewed his smooth hands with
suspicion, he lied, saying his parents had wanted him to enter the church but he
had declined!

Paul moved towards the sack containing the precious linen. “Here, let me
help you with that. It looks very heavy, and although we are going in opposite
directions, I can at least help you down the mountain a little way.” In spite
of Arnaud’s objections, he heaved the sack over his shoulder and went outside.

It took the others only a moment to gather the rest of their things and
join the young men outside. As they set off down the mountain trail, Maurina
was still walking with difficulty. The thin layer of frost blanketing the
sparse grass was very slippery, and it was only a matter of a few minutes
before she lost her balance and her feet slid out from beneath her. With a
scream, she began to slide down the rocky slope. It was Guy who rescued her,
catching her skirt as she slid past him, but her weight pulled him over too,
and they tumbled together until their headlong flight was halted by a boulder.
It took the others several minutes to catch up with them, picking their way
carefully over the frozen track.

By the time the other three arrived, Guy and Maurina had both managed to
catch their breath and were beginning to untangle themselves. Guy stood up and
held out his hand to Maurina, who struggled to arrange her skirt that had
ridden up over her thighs, and adjust her bodice, which had become entangled
with her father’s carving.

“That’s a very fine carving you are wearing,” Guy said, holding out his
hand to look at the little ornament more closely.

“My father carved it for me when I was a baby and I have worn it ever
since. Do you see how shiny the wood has become?” She pointed to it proudly. “I
would never give it up willingly,” she said.

Guy smiled. As used as he was to many fine things in his life, he could
only remember being that proud of one thing:
 
the suit of armour that his father had had made for Amaury,
which Amaury had passed to him. That was several years ago, but he clearly
remembered the excitement he had felt when Amaury had given it to him on
Bernard’s estate. His face clouded over with the thought that his father’s
friend was currently his father’s enemy. He wondered if he would ever see
Petronille, Bernard’s daughter, again in this life.

Reaching the end of the track that joined the road, the two groups made
their goodbyes, anxious to be underway before the weather broke.

“Here’s your sack,” said Paul cheerfully as he handed it to Pons. “Don’t
know what’s in it, but it’s mighty heavy!”

Pons took the sack without saying anything. Arnaud broke the silence by
telling the friendly young man that it contained supplies for Maurina’s uncle
and aunt.

“Well, God be with you.” The farewell was cheerfully given by the
younger man, who smiled as he warned Maurina not to break her neck before she
arrived at her uncle’s and to take care of her little carving.

It wasn’t until they had travelled a mile or so that Arnaud breathed a
sigh of relief. The other two had kept their silence when they realised the
older man had been praying. “That was a close call,” he said, after making
peace with his God for the deceit and lies he had been obliged to tell. “I
cannot imagine what those two young men were doing at Montsegur. They were
certainly not believers, but who else would make this journey at this time of
year, and for what purpose?”

“Only the younger one said he was at Montsegur. Don’t you remember? They
had met just on the other side of the mountains, a few miles back, before they
arrived at the hut. He didn’t actually give any reason for being out in the
wilds. Did you notice?”
 

“Yes, and he spoke our language well, but I couldn’t place where he came
from in Occitania, could you? He spoke rather too well to be a tradesman or a
clerk. So who was he?”

“Whoever he was, he was very kind,” said Maurina. “I liked him very
much. He had very gentle ways. Didn’t you see how he helped me up in the hut
when he saw the trouble I had getting to my feet? And didn’t you notice how
often he said ‘thank you’?”

The others agreed with her. Pons, in particular, noticed his little
sister’s perceptiveness.

“What if he isn’t what he pretends to be?” Arnaud asked anxiously.

        
  
“What did he pretend to be?”
Maurina wanted to know.

“Well, just a youth travelling.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she persisted.

“Very unlikely in these times,” Arnaud replied. “Most able-bodied young
men are kept at home to help protect the animals and the crops. The
routiers
who scour the countryside take
whatever they please, whenever they please, and de Montfort’s soldiers aren’t
too particular either!”

“Do you think he’s a spy?” Maurina asked.

“I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out when we get to Montsegur,” Arnaud
replied, quickening his pace. “We should be there within the week if the
weather holds; the closer we get the more brethren we are likely to encounter
and we’ll see what we can find out then.”

They met few people on the rest of the journey. Except for one night,
when they were obliged to take shelter under a formation of rocks, they found
comfortable enough accommodation with other believers—mostly shepherds
who were bringing their sheep to lower pastures and sheep folds for the winter.

Their arrival in Montsegur went almost unremarked. The villagers, and
indeed the
perfecti
,
were well used to strangers coming and
going from the mountain fortress. Only old Brother Benoit, whom Arnaud had met
on his first trip to Montsegur when the Knights Templar had first brought the
linen, recognised him. They were welcomed into his old, cave-like quarters, no
more comfortable now than they had been on Arnaud’s previous visit. The stone
walls were still damp and the small fire gave little comfort, but the three
travellers were relieved to divest themselves at last of not only the physical
weight of the linen but also the huge worry that its protection had cost them.

Benoit took Arnaud up to the top of the fortress to show him where the
linen would rest. The niche had been lined with cedar wood and silk and was
well hidden. It would be bricked up when the linen was in place and a carving
of a dove would mark one of the stones on the wall. Only a very few people,
including Esclarmonde and Bertrand Arsen, knew where the hiding place had been
constructed. No more than a dozen out of thousands would be told—for the
relic’s, as well as for their own, safety.