The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (31 page)

At the back of the crowd, Maurina grasped Pons’ arm as if her life
depended on it.

“What are they going to do?”

Her question was soon answered as soldiers moved in and out of the
woodpiles with burning torches. Soon the heaps of tinder-dry wood roared into
enormous flames and a column of singing men and women was hurried towards the
inferno. Goading them from behind with burning brands of wood came some of de
Montfort’s men. The column of heretics needed no encouragement. Sure in their
faith, they were confident they were going to a better place.

Pons and Maurina stood watching in silent horror and fascination until
the youth felt Maurina loosen her grip on his arm.

“We know most of these people.” Maurina began to sob, wiping her eyes on
a corner of the shawl. “They are our friends. We can’t let them die like this.”

“There is little we can do to help.” Pons stared stoically, careful not
to reveal the hate searing his heart for the terrible waste of life and the
cruelty that was taking place in front of his eyes, all in the name of Holy
Mother Church. Hearing Maurina draw in her breath, he caught her by the
shoulders, cautioning her to remain silent.

“There’s Arnaud. They have captured him!”

Pons might as well have tried to turn back an ocean wave as to stop
Maurina. She wriggled out of his grasp and ran towards the middle of the column
where her real father waited patiently for his turn to mount one of the burning
pyres. As she ran, people noticed the shawl she was wearing and began muttering
its displeasure at the sight of the hated insignia. A soldier ran forward and
grabbed her.

“Want to join your friends, little one? That can be arranged.” He caught
the wiggling Maurina round the waist and carried her towards the nearest fire.

“Let me go, you brute. Don’t you see this banner? What do you think it
means?”

“It means nothing to me! Where did you pick it up? Off one of the bodies
of our men, I don’t doubt!”

Maurina answered him with a well-placed kick that sent him to his knees
clutching his groin. Swearing loudly, the soldier staggered to his feet and
caught hold of her again. His face was contorted with anger as he grasped
handfuls of her hair. “Come on, you little bitch. You’ve done your last bit of
whoring.”

“I am not a whore, nor am I a murderer like you.” Maurina was sobbing.
“You kill people like you kill flies. What have any of these people done to
hurt you?”

He answered her by throwing her into the column of
perfecti
, most of whom were singing and praying. She looked around
her, hardly able to believe what was happening. She saw Arnaud beckoning her.

“Arnaud, you must make a run for it. You cannot let them end your life
like this.”

“Maurina, my child. I may call you that, for you really are my child.
These people are not ending my life; they are starting it for me. You must not
feel sorrow for us, only jubilation. Please go from here while you can.”

He pushed her away and moved closer to the fires. Already the sparks
from the flames were beginning to ignite his clothes. He turned to her once
more and waved. “Remember me. You will come to a good end, I know.”

He could only mouth the words to her. The crackling flames blotted out
what he was saying. He was soon obscured by the thick smoke that swirled around
the pyres. Mercifully, Maurina was unable to see his departure from this life.

Blinded by tears, she fought her way through the crowds of onlookers to
where she thought she had left Pons. But he was nowhere to be seen. She scanned
the mass of humanity craning their necks to get a better view of the holocaust
that was taking place in front of their eyes.

“If you’re looking for that fellow who was with you, he was taken by
some soldiers,” one bystander said, intending to be helpful.

“Which soldiers? Where?” Maurina’s voice held more than a note of panic.

“I don’t know where they went, but they were wearing the same emblem as
you.”

“Why are
you wearing that
banner?” another bystander piped up. “It’s the emblem of the Devil. It’s not
very popular around here at the moment!” The sarcasm was palpable.

Maurina felt a first frisson of fright as she realised that the crowd,
many of whom she had known all her life, was growing less friendly. They were
beginning to make catcalls and jeer at her. She could not believe her ears. How
could a crowd be so fickle? Most of them knew her, had known her since she was
a baby!

“You should take that off, my dear.” The kindly voice came from an old
woman who stood leaning against the gnarled trunk of a plane tree. ‘It’s making
the crowd angry.”

“Why should I? It was supposed to save my life.” Maurina turned away,
still searching for Pons.
 

“I’ll tell you why!” The man who spoke twisted her arm and attempted to
pull the shawl from her body. “It’s got the mark of the devil on it, that’s
why!” He gave it a vicious yank and the banner came away in his hands. He flung
it down as if it were contaminated.

“I suggest you are careful what you do with that.” A new voice had
joined the crowd around Maurina. “Those are my father’s colours, and if you do
not wish to join your friends,” he said, pointed towards the pyres, “you will
respect them!”

The crowd fell back and became silent. Only the crackling of the fires
could be heard above the singing of the martyrs who had not yet succumbed to
the flames.

“It seems you are to rescue me again,” Maurina said, gazing up at Guy.

“Yes, it is becoming a habit of mine.” He smiled at her. “But come away
from here. It is not safe and the crowd will turn on you when I go. They think
you are a traitor because you wear our colours.”

Maurina looked horrified. Never in a million years would she turn
traitor to her family and her beliefs. She turned to follow the youth, who led
her through a small door into the chateau, which although it had been ransacked
by de Montfort’s men, was still grand enough to impress the girl.

“You must stay here under my protection until my father and his army
have gone. They will not be here long. My father has other grand plans and will
leave only a few men to garrison the place. After that, I will escort you to
somewhere safe. You will not be able to return to your family, not for a while,
at least. It seems our destinies are to be linked, regardless of our
backgrounds.”

“Where is my brother? Someone said he had been taken by soldiers.”

Guy looked sombre. “Yes, he was taken by some of our men. I fear they
had some sport with him before I could stop them.”

She clutched his arm. “What do you mean by ‘sport’? Is he injured? What
have you done to him?” She looked at him with fear in her eyes.

“He’s injured but not severely. He’ll live. He’s in the dungeon where he
is not likely to be found. I’ve sent a physician to care for him. Never fear,
he will recover, but he, too, will have to leave when the time comes lest I be
accused of harbouring the enemy.”

“We are not the enemy, sir. You are!”
 
She spoke far more boldly than she felt.

The youth smiled at her. He could not but admire her spirit.
“Nevertheless, we must be careful. Neither my father nor my brother would be
happy to know that you and Pons are under their very noses. Now, you must be
dressed more fittingly lest someone guesses you are not one of us. I will have
something
 
brought for you to wear.
After that, you may see Pons. Both of you must keep out of sight as much as
possible. There are spies everywhere, even in the commander’s camp.” He turned
to go.

“Wait!” There was urgency in the girl’s voice. “You must make sure my
mother and father know we are safe.” Her face clouded over when she thought of
the fate of Arnaud, her real father, but even though she had found some comfort
in his last words to her, her eyes filled with tears. This was a true test of
her beliefs!

 
          
“I will
send a messenger. There are few I trust about here, but one or two are my men
and they will make sure your parents know.” He took her hands in his and spoke
with a firmness that surprised her. “My brother Amaury, who is my father’s
right-hand man, is of the opinion that the only good believer is a dead one, so
on no account must you betray yourself or Pons. Keep to yourself, and in a few
days we will be away from here. Now, I must join my family in council. At least
I will know where the army will strike next, and that information may be of use
to you and your friends.”

“You would betray your father to help us?” Her voice held a note of
incredulity.

“I think I do not see the larger picture as do the rest of my family,”
Guy admitted sadly. “I am not greedy for land or titles. I am certain my father
thinks he is doing the Lord’s work, but I am equally sure that The Holy Father
would not wish us to kill innocents as we have been doing. I have lived in this
part of the country for more than half of my life and cannot bear to see my
father and my brother kill the friends I have made and whom I have grown to
love as much as I love my own family. So, yes, if you call it a betrayal to
save lives, then I am a traitor.”

He looked into her eyes and saw himself reflected there. Bending to kiss
her brow, he left her.

The next week passed slowly for Maurina but the time allowed Pons’
injuries to heal sufficiently for them to leave. She had plenty of time to
think about Guy and to wonder what his kiss meant to her. He had
 
managed to visit them on several
occasions without arousing suspicion; most of his household thought he had
found himself a doxy and was keeping quiet about her. There were many winks,
nudges and jokes about red-blooded young men, and Guy did nothing to disabuse
them of their assumptions.

On the morning of their departure, dawn broke with a brilliance that
coloured everything a pink hue. Were it not for the sadness of a town in ruins,
Maurina would have been sorry to leave. As it was, the pyres still smouldered
as if reluctant to die and end the matter. Maurina was forced to close her eyes
to the hideous remnants of a once thriving community.

As they left the defeated town, the only home that Pons and Maurina had
ever known, they passed the well where it was rumoured the Lady Girauda had
been entombed alive. Legions of flies buzzed around the top of the well, and
the smell of rotting flesh added substance to what Maurina had heard. She could
not believe that de Montfort’s men, cruel as she knew them to be, would have
dealt thus with a woman so renowned for her goodness and charity. When she
challenged Guy for the truth, he was evasive, leading her to believe there was
some veracity in the rumour. Maurina could only wonder anew at man’s inhumanity
to man, and under the guise of doing God’s work!

It was agreed that Pons and Maurina would head for the mountains in the
south, well away from the fighting. Guy would go only a short distance with
them and then head west in the direction of Toulouse to join his father.
Although it had not been stated in so many words, Pons and Maurina would go to
Puylaurens and from there to Montsegur. The small fortress would be a place of
safety for them now, as it promised to be in the future.

 
The leave-taking of the
three, when it came, held a note of sadness. It seemed they were bound by
accidents of birth never to be friends, but in the short time she had known
him, Maurina had come to like and admire the young nobleman. As they drew close
to the crossroad where they would separate, Guy beckoned his groom, who had
been leading his palfrey and following them at a respectful distance. Leaning
over to the girl, he traced the outline of her face with his fingertips.
 

“Go with God, little Cathar dove, whoever your God may be. One day, when
all this is finished, I will come to find you again.” As he rode off, Maurina
gazed after the horse and its rider until they were out of sight. Her eyes were
wet and promising herself that one day they
would
meet again, she turned resolutely to join Pons.

Book Two

The de Montfort Histories:

The Dove in Flight

Chapter One

Occitania, 1211-1212 AD

Pons and Maurina

I can’t go any further, Pons.” Maurina looked down at
her bruised and bleeding feet. “Can’t we stop somewhere?” She looked
beseechingly at her foster brother. She was nearly in tears and her feet
were
a bloody mess.

 
“It’s
just a little way further on, just over the top of that hill. We’ll be there in
two hours and be able to rest there. A good night’s sleep will help.” Pons’
gentle tone of voice in his endeavour to sound sympathetic provoked Maurina’s
anger for some reason.

“It’s all very well for you in your boots! These
clogs I’m wearing have been rubbing blisters on my heels for days. I told you I
wanted boots and for that matter I would like to get rid of this shift and
skirt, too.” As she spoke she grabbed handfuls of the material which had kept
wrapping itself around her legs as they had walked through the mountains. “You
have no idea how difficult it is.” A bramble curled itself around her calf and
ankle as she spoke, clinging to the material and tearing at her skin. “Look!
See what I mean. You try walking like this.” She burst into tears.

Pons looked alarmed. This wasn’t the Maurina he knew.
She hardly ever cried. She had walked with him and her father to Montsegur the
winter before and had made no complaint.
 
What was wrong with her?
 
“Here, wear these.” He pulled a pair of boots from one of the packs.
“These will stop the rubbing for a while but you really need some salve. When
Guy was packing for us I don’t suppose he gave any thought to bruised and
bleeding feet; he rides everywhere!”

It had only been a few weeks since they had parted
company with the young de Montfort following the destruction of Lavaur.
 
His father’s
 
army had brought hell upon the Cathar refuge, and it was
only through the kindness and humanity of Guy de Montfort that Maurina and Pons
had survived.
 
Under Guy’s escort,
Maurina and Pons had been able to leave the town where sister and brother had
spent most of their young lives.
 
Maurina had seen Pons beaten within an inch of his life and her natural
father burned to death in the company of four hundred other Cathar
believers.
 

“When we get to Fanjeaux we‘ll surely find some sort
of shelter. Most of the elders will have left but there’s bound to be some of
us left in the town. It wasn’t destroyed I know that. De Montfort still has a
garrison there and Brother Dominic still has his convent. I think we’ll have to
find some boys’ clothes for you, though. You’re right. It will be easier for
you to walk and we’ll attract less attention.” He looked at her ruefully. “Even
dirty as you are you are becoming quite attractive.”

She picked up a clod of earth and threw it at him. At
thirteen she was nearly a grown woman. Females matured early in this part of
the south of France and Maurina was no exception. Her figure was already
lissome and blonde hair and fair skin gave evidence of the beauty she was to
become. Gingerly she pulled herself to her feet and he could see her wincing at
the pain. She bent to pick up the pack she had been carrying but Pons beat her
to it and picked it up.

“It’s the least I can do to help you. I would carry
you if I could but you are getting pretty large and we wouldn’t get far.” He
laughed at her indignation. She wasn’t fat at all but she was almost as tall as
he was.

They reached Fanjeaux just before dark. It had taken
the two hours that Pons had promised but finding a Cathar household intact was
another matter. De Montfort still continued his policy of destroying not only
the houses and possessions of anyone deemed a Cathar but also any animals,
crops or vines. He had decimated the area known as Occitania in the three long
years of his campaign but he had been more restrained in Fanjeaux where he
needed whatever crops and stores were available to help feed his garrison
there.

 
The
presence of the garrison and the fact that Brother Dominic had founded a
monastery nearby made the place a dangerous spot to be in, especially for those
of the Cathar faith. The town was full of would-be postulants waiting to join
the order of preaching friars for which Dominic was in the process of seeking
approval. They were all keen young men who couldn’t wait to begin the process
of seeking out the heretics in an effort to convert them.

Although there were not many soldiers about, most of
them were away fighting or cooling their heels in the siege of Toulouse, there
were enough to worry the two young people. Pons had had occasion to meet many
of de Montfort’s men the previous year and he was not anxious to run into any
of them again lest they recognise him.

 
Pons
sat Maurina down on a low wall and cautioned her not to move. At first she
objected to being left behind but when she withdrew her left foot from its
boot, she found she had been walking in a pool of blood.

“Be as quick as you can,” she said. She watched him
as he walked away towards the centre of the town, hoping he wouldn’t have to go
too far. She closed her eyes. The strain of the past few weeks had begun to
catch up with her and to add insult to injury she knew from the trickling of
blood between her legs that her monthly courses had begun again. No wonder she
was tearful!

“What have we here?” She was jolted out of her
reverie by the sound of a male voice. Looking up she saw that it was one of
Brother Dominic’s friars. “What have you done to your feet? He bent down to
take a closer look and was appalled by what he saw. He was no stranger to pain
inflicted on the body; in his younger days he had made use of a scourge on his
back to quell his youthful sexual desires. “You must come with me to our
monastery. Our sisters will bind your feet for you.”

“I can’t do that. I’m waiting for my brother. He’s
gone to get some help for me.” She didn’t want to elaborate in case the monk
began to question her further. The last thing she wished anyone in this town to
discover was that she and her brother were Cathars.

“I will fetch a cart and you will ride in it with me
to Prouille. No, don’t argue with me. The sisters have many unguents and
powders that will help your feet to heal. Besides, this town is full of
soldiers and a maiden such as you should not be about alone, especially at
dusk.” Maurina looked around her, fearfully. She had some experience with de
Montfort’s soldiers and coming so close to being raped once before she was
genuinely scared. She could only thank God for the timely arrival of Guy that
day. She knew or rather guessed she would not be so lucky a second time and she
had no wish to repeat the experience.

After some hesitation she finally agreed to wait
while the friar fetched a cart. Hoping against hope that Pons would return before
the well- meaning young postulant, she shifted her position on the hard bricks.
If Pons didn’t get back before the friar, how would she let him know where she
was? She did not want the young man to offer to send a messenger to find her
brother. The less they at the convent knew about Pons and her, the better!

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of a few minutes
before the young friar returned with a cart drawn by a donkey. Evidently
Brother Dominic’s name carried great weight in Fanjeaux for the cart had been
commandeered from its owner who now stood wringing his hands, complaining about
how much business he would lose if they kept the vehicle for long.

 
Helping
Maurina climb into the cart took several moments. The young postulant did his
best to assist her but her feet would hardly bear her weight and the best she
could manage was a hobble. As she climbed in, she looked around for signs of
her brother’s return but the street were deserted.
 
He was nowhere to be seen and with a sigh of resignation she
allowed herself to be taken to the monastery. What Pons would think when he
found she had disappeared she could not imagine.

The monastery was a few miles outside of Fanjeaux in
a village called Prouille. It had been founded to accommodate those Cathar women
who had recanted their heretical beliefs and had come back to the bosom of Holy
Mother Church. It was becoming a centre where aspiring young preachers gathered
together to await papal approval of the founding of the preaching order
envisaged by Dominic de Guzman. In the meantime, and before official
recognition of the preaching friars came from the Pope, the Daughters of
Dominic as they were called, those women who had been ‘saved’ from eternal
damnation, spent their lives in the monastery in prayer and in preaching and in
thanksgiving for their salvation.

Maurina was well aware of what she was about to get
into as the wagon reached the courtyard of the monastery. Although she knew it
had only been kindness that had driven the friar to help her, she recognised
that she had landed in the middle of a hotbed of Catholicism. For a Cathar she
couldn’t have arrived at a worse place. She wondered to herself how long it
would take the nuns to discover her true religious beliefs.
All I have to do is miss mass once or twice
and they’ll suspect,
she thought.

 
Climbing
out of the wagon, with as much difficulty as when she had climbed in, Maurina
was greeted by two serene faced women dressed in the simple garb which marked
them out as Sisters of Prouille. They had been amongst the first of the young
noble women that Dominic had managed to woo away from the Cathar church. When
they saw the state of Maurina’s feet they clucked in sympathy and called for a
porter to help her into one of the refectory rooms. Almost fainting with pain,
her feet were now simply a mass of raw flesh, she sank gratefully on one of the
wooden benches lining the wall.

“We’ll have those right in no time,” the older of the
two sisters said. “Fetch me some linens and some amaranth powder.” The younger of
the two women went off to do as she was bid.

“How far have you walked? It must have been a long
way to get your feet in this state.” She looked kindly at Maurina who was at a
loss as to what to say. She certainly didn’t want to disclose the fact that she
had walked from Lavaur and she certainly didn’t want anyone here to know she
was intending to walk to Montsegur! That would have raised eyebrows and all
sorts of questions might follow.

“My brother and I are walking to my uncle’s house in
Merens.” The lie slipped easily out of Maurina’s mouth. She used the same lie
she and Pons had told the year before when they had made their way to Montsegur
with Arnaud. She thought if it had saved them once before, it was worth a try
again. Luckily the explanation seemed to satisfy the nun and Maurina breathed a
sigh of relief. She was becoming an accomplished liar.

“Your brother, you say. Where is he? Won’t he be
worried about you?” The nun’s concern was kindly but nevertheless Maurina
answered cautiously.

“He is in Fanjeaux. He went to find an inn where I
could rest and before he got back to where I was waiting; your Brother Paul
rescued me and brought me here. I would be obliged if you could just wrap my
feet for me and then I can be off. Perhaps I will be in time to get a lift back
in the wagon that brought me. Someone must be going to take it back to the
carter.”
 

The nun looked horrified. “You cannot possibly set
out again until your feet are healed, at least a little. You will lose both of
them if you are not careful. Once infection gets into all those open sores you
will be bedridden for weeks. Do be sensible, my dear.”

“But what about my brother?’ Maurina was near to
tears. They seemed to come at the most inopportune times. She was not usually
this weak spirited.

“We shall send one of our porters with a message.
Your brother may join you here or wait in the town. It will certainly be a week
before those feet are fit to travel again. Where did you say you were going?”

“To Merens to stay with my uncle. My mother thinks it
is too dangerous for me around here and wants me out of harm’s way.”

“I can’t say I blame her, what with all these
routiers
and other soldiers about. A
girl’s virtue is very hard to protect. Have you ever thought of joining us in
the monastery? It is a calm and pleasant life even with all the strife that is
around us. Brother Dominic has brought us peace since we gave up our evil
Cathar ways. He has promised us God’s forgiveness now that we have repented.”
She stopped as she noticed the look of horror on Maurina’s face.

“What’s the matter, child?” Maurina had started to
stammer. What could she say? “Oh I know a cloistered life isn’t for everyone.
You want to marry and have babies. You are certainly pretty enough for that!”

“Yes, yes. That’s what I was thinking,” Maurina said.
Thank goodness that the nun had not discerned the real reason for her horror.
The thought of staying in this Catholic stronghold amongst the very people who
had caused the horrible death of her father made her physically ill. As it was,
she was wondering how she would manage to stay in this place for a week until
her feet healed.

The blessed relief that the unguent lent to her feet
once they had been bandaged caused Maurina to wonder how she had managed to
walk as far as she had. She had grown so used to the pain that she had begun to
accept it as a normal part of her daily life. How far away from here the days
of her early childhood seemed. Her mother and father, Pierre and Saissa had
brought her up as they had their natural children and she had always been
secure in their love. She looked around her as the nuns bustled to clear up the
bowls and ointments they had used. They had been kindness, itself, but still
she was fearful. What if they discovered who she really was?