Stories from Heaven's Library Vol. 8
The Perfect Ones, BOOK 2
As told by Sir Walter Scott
"Above all these things, put on love, which is the bond of perfectness" (Col.3:14).
IV -- A TRAITOR
The two horsemen talked as they rode back to the city together. Malcolm explained to Guillaume how he had come to France and been recruited into the king of France's corps of bodyguards, and how he had remained in the royal service for about three years before being discharged. Now he had come south to find out for himself if the things he had heard of this region were true.
Guillaume explained to Malcolm the political intrigue that had been going on for many years now between Bishop Odo and Count Raymond. And how, after having been thwarted in his attempts to mount a successful crusade to the Holy Land, the new pope had settled on a mission of gathering Southern France and Northern Italy back into the fold of the Holy Mother Church.
It was midmorning by the time the two riders entered the city. Guillaume was intent on seeing his uncle immediately to explain the latest encounter with Odo's henchman, Bernard. But Malcolm, being mindful of his belongings that he had left at the inn, insisted that they first charge the innkeeper to keep his things safe until he returned for them.
Guy was gone when they arrived, but pretty Heloise was just coming out the main door as Malcolm rushed in. Heloise was taken aback by the apparent urgency in Malcolm's words, but promised to keep his things in good order.
Then, as if by some strange inspiration, Malcolm felt compelled to take off his sword and give it to Heloise to keep with his other weapons. Malcolm felt quite odd, for in the many years that he had been a soldier, his sword had never left his side. He could not understand this strange compulsion. It was as if something had taken control of him for that instant.
Now armed only with his small dagger, Malcolm mounted his horse and joined Guillaume. Then the two headed up the main road to the castle. After leaving their horses with the attendants who rushed out to greet them, Malcolm and Guillaume marched up the main stairs and entered the great hall of the castle.
There, Guillaume spotted Robert of Avignon and went directly to him to inquire about his uncle. Robert explained that they had been meeting that morning, as the Count had felt pressed to continue the meeting from the night before, and that Guillaume had been missed. The Count had been called away to attend to other business, but would be back straightway.
Guillaume paced up and down anxiously. How he wished to share the news with his uncle that one of his confidants was betraying him to the bishop! Robert eyed Guillaume inquisitively, wondering what had made the young man so agitated, but he asked him not.
Meanwhile, Malcolm stood a few feet away, in due deference to those in the room who held higher stations in life. This was expected of him, a stranger who was more or less a commoner in this country, even though he was indeed of noble blood in his own land.
Presently, the Count returned through a small door at the far end of the hall. This door, Guillaume knew, led to the stairs going up to the Count's own apartments on an upper level of the castle.
"Guillaume, my nephew," said the Count, "you were missed this morning!"
"Yes, Uncle," said Guillaume. "My apologies. But I have some rather urgent news to share with you."
"Very well, what is it?"
Guillaume paused for a moment, and then continued. "Uncle, I think it is best that I relate this news to you in private."
Count Raymond looked bewildered. What could Guillaume possibly have to tell him that could not be told in front of Robert, his trusted counselor and chancellor?
"Leave us for a little while, Robert," said Count Raymond with a kind look. "It is apparent that my nephew has something rather difficult to say to me."
Robert bowed deferentially [1] and left the hall by the main door, to wait in the courtyard. "What about this young man?" asked the Count.
Guillaume glanced over to where Malcolm stood, then turned to his uncle. "This man is my witness, for he too saw what I saw."
"And what is it that you two saw?" inquired the Count.
Guillaume then related how he had come upon Malcolm fighting with Odo's guardsmen, and had intervened on Malcolm's behalf, before finding the letter from Bishop Odo to Peter of Castelnau, the papal legate.
"My God!" exclaimed the Count as he turned slowly away from Guillaume, his hand over his mouth, pondering all that he had just heard. "This is a very disturbing turn of events!"
"This is treachery, Uncle!" said Guillaume.
"Indeed it is," said Raymond. "Indeed it is. We now have two challenges before us. First, to find out who this informer is; second, to turn the knowledge of this to our advantage."
"Who do you think it is?" Guillaume inquired.
"It could be many people," mused the Count. "This will make our lives even more complex. We know not who to trust, for it could be anyone of those around me--from my servants, all the way to my chancellor. This is a fine pickle!" said Raymond, slumping into his chair. "This is a fine pickle, but by all that is holy, I will find out who this man is--or woman! I must devise a plan to expose this person. I must think hard. Guillaume, you are the one person that I can trust, for though I dearly love your father, this news brings everyone's loyalty into question."
"Surely, sir," said Guillaume, aghast, "you cannot suspect my father!"
"Guillaume, you now learn a sad lesson in statecraft. All are suspect--even those you hold closest and love dearest. This is the weight of being in a position of authority. There are always those who will seek that position and covet the power that comes with it. Leadership is a lonely place. I do trust your father, Guillaume, believe me! I love him and I trust him, but now I know not whether my trust is well-founded."
* * *
While these events are unfolding in the great hall, we go back to Esme and her family, who are busy breaking camp, making ready to move to their new destination.
As Ricardo was hitching the horses to their wagon, Esme, sorely troubled, turned to her father, "Father, that one soldier he might die!"
"Yes, he might, my daughter!"
"I cannot have him die, Father! For when Giles sat with us and shared the holy Word, he taught us that we must love our enemies, and care for those who use us spitefully."
Ricardo looked gently into his daughter's eyes. "And what would you have me do, my daughter?"
"We must care for that man!"
"But to take him with us would be dangerous."
"I know, Father, but the poultice will need changing soon, and his wound is deep. Father, if we can take him with us in the back of the wagon, then I can nurse his wounds."
"But daughter," said Ricardo, "you know that you could be endangering all of our lives once again." Ricardo looked into Esme's eyes and then heaved a sigh. "I know--I know what you say is right. All right, I will tell your mother."
Her father finished hitching the horses to the wagon, and, climbing on board, whistled at the horses and snapped the reins. The horses strained to get the heavy wagon rolling, and the pots and pans and other bits and pieces hanging from the sides of the wagon erupted into a jangling cacophony [2] . Heading along the bank of the river, Ricardo drove the wagon to where the three soldiers lay. Then Esme and her father and mother scurried down to the water's edge. Between the three of them, they managed to pick up the rather bulky soldier, haul him up to the wagon, and lay him in the back.
"Come, we must be going," said Ricardo, as Esme took one last look at the other two men, who still did not seem to be stirring. The wagon pulled off, and headed towards Toulouse.
About a mile from the city, Ricardo turned off the main road. He knew that he and his family would not be welcome by the townspeople, so he gave them a wide berth [3] . He found the main road on the north side of the town, and headed in the direction that Guillaume had instructed him.
* * *
It was late in the afternoon when Bernard finally regained consciousness. Rolling over, he groaned at the pain he felt in his head. Gingerly pulling off his helmet, he looked at the large dent that his unknown assailant's weapon had inflicted upon it. He felt the lump on his head and winced. Looking over, he saw the second soldier still lying where he had fallen. With a kick and some other prompting in the form of shouts and curses, Bernard finally managed to get his companion to awaken.
He, too, had been lucky that his helmet had protected him from worse than merely being knocked unconscious. Bernard searched for the third guardsman, but found him not. Climbing to the top of the embankment, he discovered the gypsies had broken camp. The sun was getting low, and he realized that the better part of the day had passed since the encounter that had led to his current sorry state.
He sat down and scratched his head as he tried to think what to do next. It was then that he noticed that the thong on his pouch was loosed. Quickly he opened the flap. Looking in, he was relieved to see the letter still there, but as he pulled it out, he gasped in horror.--The seal had been broken.
Bernard knew what he had to do. He could not deliver a letter with a broken seal to the papal legate. He would have to go back and face Bishop Odo. But he knew that he dare not tell the truth as it had happened. His story would need to paint himself as the victim.
"Come!" he yelled to his companion. "We must go back to town. Help me find the horses."
It took about half an hour to find the horses, for they had wandered off into a far pasture. It was only by chance that Bernard caught a glance of one of them as it appeared momentarily at the top of a small rise in the distance. Wearily, the two guardsmen tromped off in that direction.
After capturing the three horses, they made their way to town, discussing as they went what they would tell the bishop.
* * *
Bishop Odo was livid [4] .
"You fool!" he yelled furiously at Bernard. "You let yourself get ambushed by a highwayman? I cannot believe it. And why on earth would a highwayman open the letter? If he were after money, why would he open the letter? There is more afoot here than highwaymen! This is the Count's doing, I'll wager. Now, my years of cultivating that informant are down the drain. I must think. Get out of the room!" he bellowed at Bernard.
As Bernard turned to leave, Odo questioned him one more time. "And you would recognize this fellow which first accosted you?"
"Yes, your Grace," said Bernard, "for he egregiously [5] taunted me. Yes, I would remember him."
"And you thought he was alone?" said Odo. "But then his confederates attacked you from behind?"
"Yes, your Grace."
"And you believe those assailants who assisted him were the gypsies that were camped out there?"
"Yes, your Grace," said Bernard, looking down at the ground.
"And you believe that they have killed the third soldier and have absconded [6] with his body?--No doubt to use in one of their black rites!" the bishop sighed. In deep despair he buried his face in his hands.
Then, as if gripped by a sudden seizure of evil inspiration, the bishop's face contorted into a gleeful sneer.
"Yes! Yes!" he shouted, "We can and shall turn this to our advantage! For does it not seem obvious that this attack must have been made by those rebel Cathars who hate the church and all she stands for, that it is they--in an unholy pact with the infidel gypsies--who have attacked and murdered mother church's most pious servants? We shall use this as an excuse to press for their eradication. We shall demand a trial!
"We shall demand that Count Raymond apprehend these felons. And then--if indeed this is his doing--Count Raymond shall be caught in his own machinations. For I shall lay a trap, and it shall be shown that he is privy to what I have written in that letter. I shall then most righteously proclaim his guilt in front of all, as a co-conspirator. Ha, ha!
"By God, perhaps this is the best thing that's happened to me! And right when the legate is coming! Oh, we shall destroy Count Raymond or turn him into our groveling stooge! And then we shall have our way with purifying this land!"
V -- ACCUSED
The next morning, Bishop Odo and his entourage [7] made their way from the bishop's palace adjacent [8] the cathedral, across the main city square and into the castle of Count Raymond. Up the stairs he climbed, dressed in all the finery of his office. His gold embroidered cape with its intricate designs trailed behind him; his finely carved and inlaid bishop's crook thudded rhythmically on the steps; and his miter [9] made him appear taller than his attendants. Despite his portliness, Odo was an impressive sight.
Flanked by two priests, he was followed by several deacons and members of his bodyguard, including Bernard and the other soldier who had survived the fight with Malcolm the day before.
A herald announced their coming as they entered the great hall. "Announcing Bishop Odo of Toulouse, who seeks audience with His Excellency, Count Raymond of Toulouse."
This formality over, the bishop strode to the far end of the hall where Raymond sat on his throne, flanked by his brother-in-law, Sir Godfrey, and Robert of Avignon.
"Welcome, your Grace," Raymond said, as the bishop drew closer.
Odo made a short, stiff bow, and then, looking straight forward, began, "I have come on a matter of great urgency! Yesterday, thieves and vagabonds set upon three of my servants whom I had sent on a mission. Monies that they held were taken from them. What is more, one of my men fell mortally wounded, and now his body is not to be found. I therefore come to you for justice, and to demand that you apprehend those men, that they may face the full weight of the law. Count Raymond, my men were traveling through your territory, so I hold you responsible."
Count Raymond replied in restrained tones. "These are serious matters, your Grace. And where are the accusers, the witnesses to this matter, that I might question them and thereby be able to obtain justice for you and for Holy Mother Church?"
Odo snapped his fingers, and Bernard and the other soldier moved forward, their heads low.
"These are the two survivors. Their companion has disappeared after the attack. We fear that he has been killed and his body abducted."
"Please, your Grace," said the Count. "I would like to hear the account from your two men."
Bernard, shaking slightly, spoke. "Your Excellency, we were on an errand, and there by the river, a short ways outside the city, where the road turns toward the west, we were ambushed by a highwayman. And while he drew our attention, we were set upon from behind."
"And who do you think these fellows were?" said Raymond, looking at the man sternly.
"The one who first accosted us had the bearing of a soldier, and he spoke the language of the north, with a heavy accent. He was a young man, less than thirty, with an appearance that I suppose some would find pleasing. He taunted me, and called me vile names. I believe he was confederate with some gypsies who were camped nearby."
"We believe," said Odo, interrupting, "that these all were conspiring together with certain from the Cathar sects who are rampant in your county, and who always malign Mother Church, and teach things heretical. I have warned you before, these people should be eradicated."
"Yes, your Grace," said the Count, "I know your concerns on these matters. But tell me, soldier, did you do anything to provoke this encounter?"
"Why no, your Excellency. We were peaceably on the bishop's business."
"I see," said the Count. "And your Grace mentioned monies?"
"Oh oh yes," said Bernard. "We had with us a portion of the tithes that we were taking to the papal legate. They robbed us of these, some three hundred gold coin."
"Three hundred gold coin!" exclaimed the Count.
"Yes," said Bernard. "We had three hundred gold coin on us."
The bishop and Bernard exchanged furtive glances, for they had concocted this lie about the gold the night before, in order to lend more gravity to this accusation.
Count Raymond turned again to Bernard. "And the accent of this assailant, would you say that it was a Scot's accent?"
Bernard looked at the Count in wonderment. "Yes, your Excellency, it could well have been a Scot's accent, because I've heard the accents before from the fellows who come from the barbarous lands in the north of Britain. It could well have been a Scot's accent."
"Then," said the Count, turning to the bishop, "I think we have your man already!"
Bishop Odo's eyes widened, caught unawares.
"Yesterday, we apprehended a Scotsman, as we believed him suspicious. But he had no monies on him--at least in the amount that you have stated. As of now, I have confined him to my dungeon."
"What?" queried the bishop.
"Yes, and I'm sure that upon interrogation all truth will come forth, and that you will recover your gold."
The bishop looked askance at the Count, and then again at Bernard, who was now visibly shaken, realizing that the falsity of his story could soon be found out if the Scotsman were allowed to tell his full story. In that case he would not only be in peril from the Count, but also from the bishop. Bearing false witness in the tribunal before the Count was a serious offense, and liable to be punished with the same severity as the crime that the accuser was imputing to the accused.
Bernard stood in frozen stupor.
"Come," said the Count. "Let us repair [10] to the dungeon, and there you shall make a positive identification of the man. Once he has been identified, then the matter will be one of public trial."
Bishop Odo, now recovering somewhat from the surprising news that the assailant had already been apprehended, returned to his prepared dialogue. "Yes, your Excellency Count Raymond. I demand a public trial, and I demand that this man be put to the interrogators, to find out the depth and the breadth of this Cathar conspiracy, and the extent that they are in league with the heathen gypsies."
"We shall see," said the Count. "Come, let us go."
* * *
The combined entourages of the Count and the bishop made their way from the great hall out into the courtyard and across to an adjacent tower. Entering a door at the base, they filed down a circular staircase. Some thirty feet below, a number of cells lined the perimeter of the tower.
At the last cell, Count Raymond motioned for the jailer to open the door. Holding high a torch, the jailer unlocked the heavy iron door, swung it open, and walked into the dank, dark, putrid [11] dungeon. There, against the wall, his hands in manacles [12] that were chained to a ring above him, sat Malcolm. His face was covered in dirt, and he had the appearance of having been beaten.
"Is this the man?" asked the Count of Bernard.
"Well, go in!" demanded Odo. "Look at him!"
Bernard edged cautiously forward. His eyes locked with Malcolm's. "Yes, this is the scum who attacked me!"
Malcolm sat in silence.
Bernard darted forward, as if to kick him, but Count Raymond swung his arm out and caught Bernard heavily in the chest.
"This man is my prisoner," said the Count, "and hence he is under my protection until he comes before me in trial."
Bernard blurted out a weak apology and stumbled backwards. Then, catching Odo's glare, Bernard slunk back out the door.
"Keep this man well, jailer," said Raymond. "For the day after tomorrow, he shall stand trial."
"So soon?" said Odo. "That will not do us well in preparing our case!"
"What case is there to prepare?" said Raymond. "Why, he attacked your man and stole your valuables; your man has identified him. Surely all these things will hold up in trial, and then he will suffer for his crimes."
Things were moving too fast. Raymond had caught him off balance, but Odo quickly recovered and was careful not to reveal his shock.
"Yes, your Excellency, that is a wise decision," said Odo, more composed this time. "Yes, the day after tomorrow--a trial!"
"Very well," said Raymond. "Let us be gone."
The entourage disappeared one by one through the door. Lastly, the jailer carrying the flaming torch exited. The door clanged shut, and Malcolm was left in the pitch black of the dungeon room.
The sounds of the steps of the entourage making their way back up the spiral staircase grew fainter and eventually disappeared. A few minutes passed, and then a welcome sound came to Malcolm's ears--the grinding sound of heavy stone being moved. A secret door swung open, and Guillaume, torch in hand, entered the dungeon.
"You performed well, Scotsman," said Guillaume. "I observed all through the peephole. I thought that brute Bernard was going to deal you an ugly kick. Thank God my uncle held him off!"
"It's a good thing for that hulk [13] that he did," said Malcolm. "For even with my hands manacled like this, I could have left that sorry fellow in a pitiful state."
"Ha!" said Guillaume. "You most certainly have spirit! You Scotsmen are a scrappy [14] breed. Come, let us get you out of these manacles and back up into the fresh air."
Unbeknownst to Bishop Odo, he had been subjected to an elaborate ruse [15] . Count Raymond had come up with the plan to try and trap the bishop in his own devices, and to do that he had enlisted the help of the young Scotsman, whom he had sworn to an oath of great secrecy: Anything that he would see and hear over the next few days, he would not divulge to anyone.
Malcolm had readily agreed, looking forward to being able to help the Count and his new friend Guillaume, and to bring to justice Bernard and the other soldiers. They had anticipated the bishop coming and filing a formal complaint before the Count. It now seemed that the scheme was in motion.
Guillaume released Malcolm from his manacles, and, holding the torch high above him, led the Scotsman up a secret stairway into an intricate labyrinth of hidden passageways within the castle walls. Eventually they emerged into the private quarters of the Count and his family.
"I think it would serve us well," said Guillaume, "to get you out of the castle for a while. Since you have tasted of the inhospitableness of the bishop and his hirelings, let us now treat you to some true Occitanian [16] hospitality! My cousin Raymond--the Count's son--and myself would like to enjoy your company tonight at a gathering of troubadours from all over Southern France. Many a nobleman, and many a nobleman's son, will be present, for this is a highly prized pursuit by us nobles in the south. It is a competition, a tournament of song. I myself shall be competing and have written an alba--a love song of the morning--especially for this.
"You will have to come in disguise, for the bishop will undoubtedly have his spies there. But as for now, friend Malcolm, I would suggest that perhaps you and I might like to take a ride to see how our gypsy friends do. For I must say, I was rather taken by that pretty young thing."
Malcolm looked at Guillaume, wondering what the young man's motives might be. "Excuse me, sire," said Malcolm, "I already fought once for that young maid's honor. I will not have to fight again, will I?"
Guillaume looked at Malcolm and let out a hearty laugh. "My, you are a noble fellow, aren't you? No, fear not. I have no ill intentions towards the young lady. It is just that she is a beauty, and I am afraid that I have been somewhat smitten by her. Still, it is not something that I can contemplate, for I am a nobleman, and it would be unacceptable for me to take a gypsy maid as wife. But doesn't she have the most amazing eyes?" asked Guillaume, as his speech drifted off.
Malcolm remembered the dark beauty of the girl, with her deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sun, and he understood completely what Guillaume was saying. "Sire, I have one request. I left my armor with the keepers of the inn where I was staying, and I feel at a severe disadvantage without my sword, knowing that I now have avowed enemies in these parts. I pray thee, let me go there to retrieve the sword."
"No," said Guillaume. "It is too dangerous. I cannot have you wandering around town. I propose that I send a messenger to the inn and ask that those there bring the sword to you at our destination."
"Very well," said Malcolm, agreeing with the young man's wise decision.
"Come, let us ride out of here. Wear this great cloak and hood," Guillaume said as he pulled it from a hook on the wall. "Hide yourself until we are far from the city, for the bishop has eyes and ears everywhere."
"But will not someone come and check that I am still in the dungeon?"
"No," said Guillaume. "My uncle the Count has given strict orders that you are not to be fed during the next two days, so not even a meal will be brought to you. The jailer will not even bother to open the door. Trust my uncle; he knows what he is doing."
Guillaume and Malcolm left the castle by a small side door. There, waiting for them, were their two horses. Malcolm mounted his trusty steed, and Guillaume the other, and the two men made their way to the northern gate of the city, which was practically deserted at this hour.
They slipped out of the town--hopefully unnoticed--and headed north towards Guillaume's father's estate.
* * *
It was late morning, nearly noon, by the time they arrived at the cottage where the gamekeeper and steward of Sir Godfrey's estate resided. Guillaume dismounted and walked to the door. Malcolm watched from a distance as Guillaume was met by a robust elderly man with long white hair, dressed in brown. The two conversed for a moment, then the older man pointed a finger up the road in the direction of a heavily wooded area.
Guillaume remounted and, turning to Malcolm, said, "My father's steward says the gypsies are up here a few leagues, in the woods, well-hidden from view. But he has told me some disturbing news. He said they have with them a wounded soldier. I am worried. Come, let us go find them."
They soon came upon the gypsy camp. Although it was well camouflaged, they knew what they were looking for, and spotted it quite readily. As they rode up to the huge wagon, Ricardo came out to greet them.
"Welcome, noble gentlemen," said Ricardo.
"Welcome to you," said Guillaume. Then looking over Ricardo's shoulder, he saw Esme and her mother. "And welcome to you too, ladies," said Guillaume.
"Welcome, sirs," said the two women.
"I am indebted to you, young man," said Ricardo, turning to Malcolm. "For I fear that my daughter would have been killed by those men had you not intervened." Then turning to Guillaume, Ricardo added, "I am grateful for you too, sire, for coming to the aid of your companion when all seemed lost. My daughter has told me the whole story. We gypsies are not used to such kindness from outsiders. My wife is preparing the noontime meal. Would you join us?"
"I would be happy to," said Guillaume, "and I am sure that my good companion here, Malcolm, would also enjoy a meal, for he had to forego his breakfast this morning." Guillaume flashed a smile at Malcolm.
Malcolm smiled back at the good-natured jest, for he had indeed missed his breakfast that morning in order to prepare for his performance in the dungeon.
And so they ate heartily of the venison meal that was put before them.
"I see you have caught a good deer," said Guillaume to Ricardo. "One of my father's, I presume."
Ricardo looked down. "No, sire. I had this deer from before. I believed him to belong to no one."
"Fear not," said Guillaume. "You are welcome to catch whatever game you can here. For you may have to stay here a while, until this matter with the bishop and his henchmen gets resolved."
"The bishop and his henchmen?" questioned Ricardo, his eyes widening.
"Yes," said Guillaume. "For those soldiers who fell upon you--or, rather, tried to fall upon your beautiful daughter--are in the employ of Odo, Bishop of Toulouse, our much-beloved local prelate," said Guillaume, mockingly.
"Good Lord, the Mad Bishop!" muttered Ricardo.
"I see his reputation has reached you," said Guillaume.
"Yes, we all know of him."
Guillaume now looked sternly at Ricardo. "I have heard disturbing news that you brought the wounded soldier with you." Ricardo glanced over at Esme. "Yes, we have, young sir. For the man was sorely--we feared mortally--wounded, and we believed that he would bleed to death unless we cared for him."
"And why would you have such compassion on this assailant?" asked Guillaume in astonishment.
"Because that is what our Lord would have us to do," said Ricardo.
"Your Lord?"
"Yes, the God of the Christians. For a man named Giles has spent many days at our campfire, teaching us His holy Word. He told us that we were to love our enemies, and do good to them that hate us and use us spitefully. When we saw this man, we knew that God expected us to care for him and nurse him--if possible--back to health."
"I suspect that the Giles you speak of is Giles the tailor, the preacher, for he is well-known in Toulouse and in the surrounding areas as one of the Cathars. But where is the wounded soldier?" asked Guillaume.
"He is in the tent over there. He has a fever and is delirious. He has lost much blood, but we have dressed and nursed his wounds, and we believe that they could now heal. All depends on whether or not he fights to live."
Guillaume and Malcolm followed Ricardo and Esme over to the tent and peered in. There they saw the man, laying on a cot, beads of sweat upon his head. His lips moved in silent mutters.
"You people astound me," Guillaume spoke softly. "Let us hope that your man here lives, for if he dies, there will be hell to pay!"
Malcolm now turned to Ricardo. "I have heard of the Cathars. In the north they say much about them. Are you Cathars?"
"If you mean that we follow the teachings of Master Giles, then yes, we are Cathars. All the other people did treat us as outcasts and called us vagabonds, ruffians, villains and whores; but Giles came to us and asked nothing. He treated us with dignity and honor. He won our hearts with his kindness and his purity. Yes, if following the teachings of master Giles makes us Cathars, then we are proud to be called by that name. But we know no others, for Giles visits us alone. I think he is afraid that even the other Cathars will not accept us."
Just then they heard in the distance the sound of a dog barking. Soon the barking grew louder. Guillaume stepped behind a tree near the road and peered around cautiously to see what was happening.
Two figures--no, three--were marching up the road, following a great dog. The first figure, he recognized as his father's steward. The other two, a man and a woman, he knew not. Guillaume motioned to Malcolm to hide himself, and Malcolm slipped into some underbrush. Soon, the huge mastiff had reached the clearing and bounded directly towards Guillaume, who was still trying to conceal himself behind the tree.
"Halt, you beast," said Guillaume good-naturedly.
The huge dog abruptly stopped and sat as his feet, his huge tail wagging, and his tongue hanging out. With chestnut eyes he adored his master.
"Good dog!" said Guillaume. The old mastiff had been his childhood friend, and now, ten or more years later, still resided on his father's estate.
"These two people have come, sir," said the steward to Guillaume. "They say that they were summoned by your servant to bring a sword."
Guy and Heloise approached Guillaume.
"A messenger came to our inn this morning, sire, asking us to bring the sword of our lodger to the house of the steward of Sir Godfrey's estate. I wanted to come alone, but my sister insisted that she come also. Where is the Scotsman, that we may deliver his sword to him?"
"Malcolm, you can come out!" said Guillaume.
Malcolm made his way out of the underbrush and walked over to the two newcomers. "I am very grateful that you have come and brought this," said Malcolm. "I really felt quite naked without it."
"You're welcome, sir," said Guy. "But pray, why did you leave it with my sister?"
"I know not," said Malcolm, "but I was taken by some strange premonition that I should leave it with you yesterday afternoon. I regret your inconvenience at having to come this far to deliver it."
"We were able to get a ride most of the way, and did not have far to walk," said Guy.
"You didn't attract the suspicion of anyone, did you?" asked Guillaume.
"I think not, sir," said Guy. "And why should we attract the suspicion of anyone?"
"Hmmm," said Guillaume. "This will take a lot of explaining. Come over to the campfire."
"Have you eaten?" asked Ricardo.
"Why no," said Guy.
"Then let me prepare you some venison and bread," Ricardo offered.
"Thank you."
"These gypsies are Cathars," said Guillaume.
Guy and Heloise cast a quick glance at each other.
"They are followers of one Giles the tailor, who is well-known in our parts."
Guy and Heloise looked at each other in amazement. They thought that their small group that met in the baker's shop was Giles' only congregation.
"And this Giles," inquired Guy of Ricardo, "what does he teach you?"
"He has taught us," said Ricardo, "that love is the greatest thing.--That the command to love God and our fellows, what he called the Celestial Law, is higher than any law of the land. This Great Law was always Giles' central teaching."
Guy and Heloise immediately recognized the truth in the gypsy's words, for that was the hallmark of Giles' teaching: the Great Law, the Celestial Law, the Law of Love.
"It is good to know you, brother," said Guy, embracing Ricardo. "For we, too, are followers of Giles. But it is a shock to know that he has followers other than our small fellowship."
VI -- THE TOURNAMENT OF SONG
A lively conversation soon ensued around the fire at the gypsy encampment. Ricardo left, and Esme came and sat in his place. After relating the details to Guy and Heloise of what had happened the day before, Malcolm then wanted to satisfy his own inquisitiveness as to what exactly these three Cathars believed. Guy and Heloise were fascinated to have found out that Giles had been teaching others secretly. Esme was thrilled to know that there were others who held the same beliefs and had the same teacher--others who now embraced her as a fellow believer. Guillaume was very familiar with most Cathar practices and beliefs, and assumed the role of a detached observer.
"Is it true," asked Malcolm, "that you do not eat meat and eggs nor drink milk, and that you refrain from marriage?"
"No, it is not," said Guy. "Others may, but not us. For we believe in the freedom of God's love, and that means freedom to enjoy the things which God has provided. Our God is a good God, and we are free to enjoy all the good things that He provides."
"But I have heard that some of you preach that you may take your own life, when trouble surrounds you."
"That is also rubbish," said Guy. "We love our lives. But these are the things that they say about us to discredit us, to try to show that we are dangerous--not only to others, but even to ourselves! For the only ones of our belief who have died violently or unnaturally are those who have been tortured, imprisoned and killed by our enemies--which, as you may know, are many.
"We are a peaceful, loving people, and want others to enjoy the peace and love that we have. We are active as preachers and teachers, and we spread our beliefs enthusiastically, but we harm no one. Others seek to harm us because we are freeing people from the spiritual tyranny under which they live and the fears and rules of man and the Church that oppress them."
"Ah, but some of you do have strange beliefs," said Guillaume. "For truly, sometimes I wonder what God you believe in! For there are some of you that believe in two gods--the one bad, the other good--and that you must transcend the bad to get to the good."
"There are many different beliefs," said Heloise, "for not all who do not conform to the Church of Rome are of one mind, neither are we all united. I know there are many preachers and many diverse beliefs among those preachers, but what we have been taught by Giles is that Jesus Christ is the Son of the God of love, sent by God to show us the way of love. Giles also taught us that He was a simple man who lived a simple life, and that He, like some of our fellows, was killed by those envious of Him. His preaching of love undermined their domination. He showed people how to be free, and not under bondage. That is what we tell others: that they can be free--free to enjoy life, free to love."
"But some of you shun physical affection and say that you must refrain from the things of this world in order to perfect yourselves, in order to pass on to that perfect state beyond," replied Guillaume.
"It is true--again," said Guy, "that some teach this, but this is not our belief. We believe that perfection will only come on the other side, when we have passed from this world into the next. Love and showing love is the way to perfection. It is not in the things that you deny yourself, but it is in the things that you do for others. It is in the care and consideration that you show to others--as this gypsy family has done in taking in this one who hated them and sought to do them harm; yet they have taken him in to try and heal him of his wounds. We believe such deeds of kindness are what help one reach perfection."
"Well," said Malcolm. "If this is what you believe, then I am happy to know you, for these are truly honorable beliefs. But why do I hear that the bishop and other members of Holy Mother Church hate you so?"
"It is as we said before," said Guy. "We expose them for what they do not do. We expose them for their hypocrisy. That is why they hate us."
"This Giles," asked Malcolm, "how can I meet him? Truly I would like to hear the things he says."
"I would have to ask him if I can bring you to our next meeting," replied Guy.
"Please do," said Malcolm, "for I would like to know more."
"Well, my friend," said Guillaume, "it looks like you're enjoying this conversation and I hate to pull you away from it, but I must say that the day is getting late now. Tonight you shall be my guest at the Tournament of Song, so we must be thinking of getting away from here. Oh, I must think of a disguise for you!
"Master Guy and Mistress Heloise, I thank you for coming here, and for bringing my companion's sword. I apologize to you for the inconvenience, and I apologize that we cannot stay and enjoy your pleasant company, but Malcolm and I must be off."
Then Guillaume turned to Esme and was once again struck by the deep beauty in her eyes. "Mistress Esme," said Guillaume politely, "tell your noble father that he is most welcome to stay here. Thank you for your hospitality, and for the meal. I am concerned about that soldier, yonder, and I do join my prayers with yours that he will recover. Come, Malcolm, we must be going."
Reluctantly, Malcolm nodded and arose. He turned to Guy and Heloise and said, "Thank you for telling me the things that you have today. I came in search of a mystery, and I have found something profound. You are truly a unique and noble people. I thank you, too, for coming this far to bring me my sword, and I pray that I will be able to return the favor someday."
"You are welcome, noble Scotsman," said Guy. "You are a true and honest man." The two shook hands and then Malcolm turned to Heloise. Once again his awkwardness with women showed itself as he stammered out a disjoined repeat of all that he had just said to Guy. Heloise blushed slightly. As they looked into each other's eyes, there was a long pause--a pause that grew almost awkward for the others standing around.
"Oh," Guillaume teased as he slapped Malcolm on the back, "I think our dear Scotsman is smitten by your beauty, Ma'am!"
Heloise flushed a deep red. Malcolm turned angrily to Guillaume, but seeing the good-natured smile on the young man's face, quickly found himself forgiving Guillaume for embarrassing him.
"Yes, we must be going," said Malcolm somewhat brusquely as he headed towards his horse.
Guillaume turned back toward Esme, and again their eyes met. For a moment he seemed transported to some silent, timeless realm. Then a sweet smile broke on Esme's face, and it was Guillaume's turn to blush! He recovered with a smile and bowed chivalrously to the young woman. Without a word, he turned and headed off to join Malcolm.
"You make light of me for being love-smitten," said Malcolm to Guillaume, "but methinks your heart too has been lost at this campfire."
Guillaume smiled, but didn't answer. He swung himself into the horse's saddle. "Come on, Scotsman! We must be off. First stop is my father's house, which is about fifteen minutes' ride from here. For there I think I can outfit you in a most deceiving disguise."
Malcolm looked at Guillaume, somewhat puzzled, but decided not to test the matter further. He, too, swung into his saddle, and the two headed up the road that led out of the woods, then turned in the direction of Guillaume's father's country home.
* * *
We will skip the rest of the events of the afternoon, for they are rather inconsequential to this story. We switch once again to the great hall of the castle in Toulouse, which bustled with activity, for it would be the venue of the Tournament of Song. Servants rushed about, busily preparing the banquet tables that ringed the hall. Many knights, great lords, and sons of great lords had gathered in Toulouse that night.
The judge of the tournament was to be none other than the lovely wife of Count Raymond. She was the sister of Peter, the king of Aragon, the state that bordered the County of Toulouse to the south and west. Raymond's late first wife, Joan, had been the sister of Richard the Lion-Hearted. Richard, himself a renowned troubadour, had died several years earlier, not far from Toulouse, from wounds received while besieging the castle of a rebellious underlord within his lands in France.
Count Raymond had been a troubadour himself in earlier times, but in these days he found himself so taken up with affairs of state that he no longer had time to pen songs. But tonight he, too, came to watch and to listen, for he found that a good song could almost magically make him feel less burdened with the cares that constantly bedeviled him.
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The Troubadours: The troubadours were a class of 12th and 13th century lyric poets in Provence (southern France), northern Italy, and northern Spain, who composed songs in Langue d'Oc; often about courtly love.
The lyrics of the troubadours were among the first to use native language rather than Latin, the literary language of the Middle Ages.
Originally, the troubadours sang their own poems to assembled courts and often held competitions, or so-called tournaments of song; later, they engaged itinerant musicians, called jongleurs, to perform their works. The subjects included love, chivalry, religion, politics, war, funerals, and nature.
The majority of these troubadours were nobles and some were kings. For them, composing and performing songs was a manifestation of the ideal of chivalry. Troubadour music gradually disappeared during the 13th century.
==========#==========#==========#==========
Shortly before the entertainment was to begin, Guillaume and young Raymond arrived. With them was a stranger, dressed in Saracen robes. His dark complexion, offset by the white headgear common to the Moors of Southern Spain, made this stranger seem peculiarly out of place.
==========#==========#==========#==========
Saracens: The Saracens were originally a tribe in north Arabia. The name later came to be used generally for Arabs and Muslim peoples of the Middle East.
The Muslims of northwest Africa and Spain were commonly referred to as Moors.
==========#==========#==========#==========
"This is Sharif Abu Ben-Ramen," explained Guillaume to his startled uncle. "He is a Moorish doctor from Grenada, who has come to the Languedoc to ply his trade and teach his craft. The physicians of Cordoba and Grenada are famed throughout the world for their healing prowess. I have invited him to come tonight, to see and listen to the songs and beauty and culture of our fair Christian town. It may be that we can influence him to look kindly upon our religion."
Count Raymond turned pale as he stared at the familiar features of the Saracen. The brown dye that tanned Malcolm's face did little to hide his identity from the Count. Raymond shook his head in dismay, then nodded to the man and sat down again, heavily, in his chair.
Reaching forward to grab his goblet of wine, Guillaume whispered in the younger Raymond's ear. "We have obviously displeased your father with what we have done."
Young Raymond turned to Guillaume with a twinkle in his eyes. He always enjoyed his cousin's pranks; that Guillaume had disguised a friend was clear, but the younger Raymond was in the dark as to who exactly Malcolm was.
"That we have, cousin! That we have!" he said. "And let us see how well the ruse can be played off against the others!"
"Come, noble doctor," said Guillaume to Sharif Abu Ben-Ramen, "let us be seated up here, on the right hand of my illustrious uncle. I am so sorry that those of your religion do not drink alcohol, for though you will be able to listen to the good music, you will not be able to partake with us of this rather good wine that is produced in great quantity within our fair county."
The Saracen nodded, but remained quiet as he sat down. Malcolm felt quite uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothes, but he had gone along with the scheme and there was no turning back. To be invited to the Tournament of Song and to sit in a place of some honor was something that he would not have wanted to miss. The songs of the troubadours were famous throughout Christendom, and here he was going to hear some of the very best of them.
The songs were divided into several categories. The first singer sang a variation of Le Chanson de Roland, the story of the noble Roland, a Frankish knight who, several centuries earlier, had crossed the Pyrenees with Charlemagne with the intention of liberating those lands from the conquering Saracens. After a rather inconclusive campaign, Roland was given the command of the rearguard as the army of the Franks headed home. His was a noble mission doomed to failure, for his company was small in number and the enemy strong. Soon, the small, heroic band was defeated and all were killed in battle. However, their deeds became the essence of a legend and a popular subject for song.
Several people in the audience stared at Malcolm during the song. It took him a while before he realized that he himself should be somewhat offended by the words, for it did not speak of Saracens in pleasant terms. Turning to Guillaume, he bent over and whispered into his ear, somewhat jokingly, "I should be picking up my scimitar [17] and running you through right about now, for the insults in this song."
"Noble Saracen," Guillaume whispered back, "do not take your disguise too literally. You can pretend to be offended, but the song will not last long. Fear not."
To Malcolm's relief, the song soon ended, to the cheers of the onlookers.
The next song told of heroic deeds, this time based on the struggles between various kingdoms that France had been divided into hundreds of years before.
The third troubadour sang of unrequited [18] love. His was the story of a young knight who loved a princess who knew not that she was loved by the man. Tragically, the song ended in the young man leaving for the Crusades and dying in a far land, without the woman ever knowing of his love.
Then it was Guillaume's turn. Accompanied by a musician on a lute, he sang a song of two lovers. It was a happy song, for the two were finally united and lived in endless bliss.
There were many other songs that night, and much wine was drunk. Malcolm thoroughly enjoyed the evening, even though he had to remain sober. After much roistering [19] and singing, the tournament came to an end, and the Countess was to award the prize, a richly decorated goblet, to the winner. After much debate with her husband, and acknowledging to those gathered that it was hard to be a judge when her own nephew had been among the contestants, she awarded the cup to the young chevalier [20] who had sung the sad song of the unrequited love. A huge cheer went out from the crowd as the young man came forward and knelt before the Countess. As he arose, she gave him the cup. Holding it high above his head, the young man turned to everyone, and they once again shouted and applauded.
"Come," said Guillaume to Malcolm, "you and I must be departing soon. We must find a nice place for us to spend the night--out of harm's way, and away from the eyes of prying servants. I think that you and I might do better to stay at that inn of yours than to remain here in the castle, where already we know someone is telling the bishop my uncle's every move."
As they were leaving, a formidable knight in a drunken stupor turned to Malcolm. "You heathen Saracen!" he snarled. "Why do you come and show yourself among us Christians? You alchemist [21] ! You who do covenant with the Evil One! I should take my sword and run you through and be done with you now!" Malcolm eyed Guillaume nervously.
Guillaume turned to the man. "This Saracen is here by my invitation. He is a noble man, true and honest, and I will not have you insulting him in my uncle's house. If you decide to run him through, you will have to run me through first. And then, I think, my uncle might have somewhat against thee."
The color rose in the knight's face as he muttered a halfhearted apology, turned, and headed out the door.
"Some of my countrymen are truly bigoted," said Guillaume, "but I think it was more the wine talking than himself. It is well-known in our parts that to achieve the best education, one must go to Cordoba, and there study in the university, but it seems that while some here are not averse to having the Moors educate them, Saracens in their own backyard make them nervous.
"But that man, Albert of Aurillac, is a truly dangerous man. He is not only rude and ill-tempered, but also one of the greatest warriors in these parts. I assume he did not take things further because he feared running afoul of my uncle. Come, let us go, before we encounter any of the others."
Bidding goodnight to the younger Raymond, Guillaume and Malcolm slipped out of the great hall by a side door and made their way down a short flight of steps into a side room, where Malcolm removed his disguise, washed the dye from his hands and face, and donned a cloak.
From there, they slipped out of the castle compound and into the town, and headed down the main street. Guillaume obviously knew where he was going, but to Malcolm, everything was new and unfamiliar. They passed the baker's shop, where, unbeknownst to them, Giles' group had met two days earlier. Then Guillaume turned to the right, into a small alleyway. Pressing on in the dark, they soon came to the inn. Guillaume knocked on the front door.
A voice that they both recognized shouted out from behind the door, "Who is it?"
"It is Malcolm and Guillaume," replied Guillaume.
The bolt clanged loudly as it was pulled, and the door swung open. The two made their way into the inn as Guy closed the door behind them.
"What are you doing here?" asked Guy.
"First I must swear you to an oath of loyalty and secrecy," said Guillaume.
"It is against my beliefs to swear any oath, but you have my word that what passes between you and I tonight will not be told to others," replied Guy.
Guillaume looked deep in Guy's eyes and hesitated for a moment. Then he continued, "Our friend, Malcolm, is supposed to be resident in my uncle's dungeon, but I was trying to find him some more hospitable accommodations tonight. He told me that you maintained a very nice inn here."
"Well, I hope it is better than your uncle's dungeon," said Guy with a smile, "though your uncle's dungeon probably has more occupancy than our inn tonight. Your room is still empty, sir," Guy said to Malcolm. "In truth, you may have the run of the place, for there are no other customers. But pray tell me, sir, why are you supposed to be resident in our Count's dungeon?"
"Did Esme not tell you how we met?" asked Guillaume.
"Yes, she did," said Guy, "and that if it hadn't been for Malcolm here, the bishop's soldiers would have had their way with her, and possibly even killed her. And in turn, if you hadn't intervened, Malcolm himself could have been killed."
"Yes," said Malcolm. "I would have passed on to my reward--whatever that may be--if it had not been for the timely intervention of my friend, the noble Guillaume."
"As I said before," Guillaume interrupted, "it was the least that I could do, after having watched you fight those brutes single-handedly."
Turning to Guy, Guillaume continued, "That is why Malcolm is currently resident--or supposed to be resident--in my uncle's choicest lodgings. You see, the bishop has told a different story to my uncle, and his soldiers have accused Malcolm, along with some accomplices, of attacking them on the highway and robbing them of a goodly sum, and also of absconding with the body of one of them.
"And further, the bishop's soldiers contend that it was a conspiracy involving not only Malcolm, but also the gypsies and the Cathars."
"But surely your uncle does not believe this?" said Guy. "For you yourself were witness to the mal-intentions of the bishop's soldiers."
"Yes, this is true," said Guillaume. "My uncle does not believe it. But there is much politics in this. For even now, a delegation from the pope is in transit to our fair city to argue in front of my uncle that he should suppress you and others of the Cathars. Bishop Odo, our beloved local prelate, is encouraging him in this endeavor, and is also trying to use this attack on his men as another reason to persuade my uncle to oppress you. But my uncle has a plan whereby he hopes to expose the bishop as a liar, and therefore place the papal legate in an embarrassing and compromising position whereby he will not be able to press my uncle into carrying out the pope's wishes. It is all very complicated, but much hinges on keeping our dear Scot here out of the public eye--that is, until the day of trial."
"The day of trial?" queried Guy.
"Yes, the day after tomorrow, my uncle has set the trial."
"Well, please make yourself at home. My sister has already retired for the night, and I was also about to sleep, but can I get you anything first?"
"We will be all right, my friend," said Guillaume. "Just show us the way to our rooms. I fear we need a good night's rest as there may not be much chance for such a luxury in the days to come."
To be continued
(Definitions found at end of book:)
Definitions*:
1 deferentially: courteously, submissively
2 cacophony: harsh or disturbing sounds; noise
3 wide berth: enough space or distance to avoid an unwanted consequence
4 livid: furious, extremely angry
5 egregious: blatantly bad or offensive
6 abscond: to leave quickly and secretly so as to avoid prosecution
7 entourage: a group of attendants
8 adjacent: near, next to
9 miter: a tall pointed hat with peaks in front and back, worn at solemn functions by a bishop
10 repair: to move oneself to another place
11 putrid: stinking or rotting smell
12 manacles: handcuffs
13 hulk: a large, clumsy and unwieldy person
14 scrappy: full of a fighting spirit, quarrelsome
15 ruse: a crafty deception
16 Occitanian: referring to "Occitania," an old name for the southern part of France
17 scimitar: a curved sword
18 unrequited: not returned
19 roistering: loud and boisterous merrymaking
20 chevalier: a title of French nobility
21 alchemist: a medieval wizard who dealt with potions
*These words are only defined generally and according to their use in this story.
Copyright (c) 1998 by Aurora Productions