The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil (7 page)

Both Bertrand and his companion welcomed Arnaud warmly and it wasn’t
long before Arnaud felt as though he had known them both for years. They spoke
of many things that touched the young man deeply, still suffering as he was
from the blow of his great loss. They had brought with them a book from which
to read as they walked along. Bertrand told Arnaud it was the Gospel of St.
John, a part of the Bible with which Arnaud was reasonably familiar. Of course,
Arnaud, along with the majority of his friends, could not read and had had to
rely on the village priest to read and interpret the Bible for him. It was
strange indeed to hear these two oddly-dressed men discussing the scriptures
and making their own judgements about what each verse meant. On one hand,
Arnaud was strangely discomforted by the whole thing, but on the other hand, he
was thrilled to be able to ask questions and receive answers. This was a
novelty indeed!

They had walked for several hours before Bertrand called a halt. They
sat down on some of the large granite rocks that littered the hills they had
just descended. Arnaud drew out the sausage, bread and cheese that Saissa had
wrapped up for him and offered it first to Bertrand and then to his friend. To
his dismay, they both refused his offer and drew out of their own pouches some
carrots and turnips that had been cut into bite-sized pieces. Thinking he had
offended them in some way, Arnaud quickly went to put away his own food.
  

“No, don’t do that,” Bertrand said. “You must eat what you are
accustomed to eating, as we must.”

“Do you eat nothing but vegetables, or is this some special holy day?”
Arnaud asked.

The two men laughed loudly. “We don’t have such things as holy days. All
days are holy for us and we make no special difference between any of them.”

The young man looked uncomfortable because they had laughed. Bertrand
quickly reassured him that it was a common question asked of them by non-believers.
Good Catholics found it hard to accept that God wished everyone to be good
every day of the year, not just on holy days and Sundays. Arnaud, too, was
having difficulty with this heretical concept, although he couldn’t deny the
logic of such a statement.

It took them the rest of the day to reach Marzen, a village on the way
to Taulat that was located a thousand feet up in the mountains. The two
perfecti
had kept up a cracking pace and
although Arnaud was the youngest by far, he was certainly not the fittest. By
the time they knocked at the door of the small cottage where they knew they
would be welcome, he was panting for breath.

The door was opened by a short stout woman, who quickly bowed three
times when she recognized her visitors. Her first words confirmed quickly in
Arnaud’s mind that these were clearly men of some rank and obviously worthy of
respect in the Cathar church, for her first words were a prayer, one that
Arnaud had never heard before.

“Pray God to make a good Christian of me and bring me to a good end.”

Bertrand’s reply was to bless her and say in return, “May God make a
good Christian of you and bring you to a good end.”

Arnaud was welcomed into the house almost as warmly as the two
perfecti
who had come, it now seemed, to
preach to the believers in the small community. The young man was puzzled. He
hadn’t noticed any building that might serve as a meeting place in the small
community, and besides, it wasn’t Sunday. Were they planning to stay here for
the next five days?
 

He soon found out that the meeting of the small population of believers
was to take place that evening in the house of his hosts. There were not many
believers in Marzen—only a handful—but they were no less fervent in
their belief than those who met in larger gatherings. They heard Bertrand
preach from the New Testament of the Bible and then they recited the Lord’s
Prayer. Arnaud was confused by the fact that women joined in all the
discussions, even more so when the men listened attentively to what they had to
say. This was a revelation to the young man, who had viewed religion as the
preserve of men. There were no women in the Catholic Church hierarchy save for
nuns, who, for the most part, were discouraged from voicing any opinion except
in their convents! He said nothing at the meeting but debated inwardly the
value of allowing women free rein to speak. He was not sure he liked the idea.
It was certainly novel!
 

The three of them rose early the next day and set out through the
mountains for Taulat, a village somewhat smaller than Marzen but that had a
larger Cathar population. As they went along, Bertrand explained some of the
Cathars’ beliefs to Arnaud, who felt quite honoured by the trust the older man
placed in him. It was most unusual for a believer to talk this frankly to a
non-believer, and Arnaud wondered at its purpose.

Bertrand tried to explain the consolamentum
of
the dying, which he had administered to Arnaud’s wife. What set the Cathars
apart from the Catholic Church was their idea that there were two equals:
 
Good and Evil. Good was the kingdom of
the Lord; Evil was the day-to-day life of ordinary people on earth. Evil had
imprisoned Good in men’s bodies and, for ordinary people, could only be set
free at their deaths. This salvation of their souls was found through the
consolamentum.

Upon hearing this, Arnaud realised why it had been so important for his
wife that he fetch Bertrand when she was dying. The young man had never been so
glad in all his life that he had done what his wife had requested. He knew now
that she had died happy, and he thanked God that he had been allowed to
facilitate this.

“Are you telling me that we’re all evil—even small babies and tiny
children?” Arnaud looked troubled at the thought.

“Inherently, yes,” Bertrand said quietly. “I know that is difficult to
accept, but we believe it to be the truth. We believe evil stalks the world
around us all and it is not until the soul, which is the good within us, is
released that we are truly able to see God and enter His kingdom. If you will,
evil has managed to ‘imprison’ man’s soul and his salvation can only come
through the consolamentum of the dying. That’s when the soul is set free and
begins the rite of
 
purification,
either by reincarnation into another body or, if pure enough, to see God
instantly. All Cathars, even those of us who have been deemed perfect on this
earth, may have to pass through several lives before we are good enough for the
Lord God. That’s why I had to get to your wife before she died.”

“This seems very difficult to me,” Arnaud declared. The idea of
reincarnation was virtually unknown to him. Certainly no priest had ever
mentioned it. “What does Holy Mother Church think of these things? It all seems
very farfetched!”

“Arnaud,” Bertrand continued, “we do not speak of reincarnation, even to
our simple believers. The notion is too difficult for most of our people to
understand, but in view of your great loss and your obvious love for your wife,
I wanted to give you some measure of comfort and let you know that while her
bodily remains are dead, she, herself, is not. Her spirit flies as free as a
dove, and who knows where it will settle?”

It was a comforting thought, Arnaud had to agree, but he wouldn’t like
to hazard a guess what his village priest would have to say about the idea.

They walked several miles more in companionable silence, each man
occupied with his own thoughts. Arnaud had begun to like the idea of his wife’s
soul flying as free as a dove. It was certainly was more comforting than the
thought of her soul trapped in a dank coffin somewhere in the ground. This
notion lifted his spirits higher than they had been since the terrible day of
her death.

“Are there many of you believers about?” Arnaud inquired. “Could I learn
more?” He was clearly interested.

Not wishing to discourage him, Bertrand told him there were many
believers in Lavaur and if he were truly interested in discovering the real
truth of God, many would be willing to talk to him. There would be a great deal
to learn, however, and it should not be entered into lightly. “I must warn you
that we are not well received by everybody,” Bertrand said. “In fact, some of
our knowledge is downright dangerous to talk about.”

“You have nothing to fear from my loose tongue,” Arnaud assured him.

Bertrand gave him a wide smile. “No, I did not think there would be.
That is why I have spoken freely with you, and one of the reasons I asked you
to accompany us. I wanted you to see the fellowship we have and perhaps have a
small taste of the way we live.”

Their arrival in Taulat caused quite a stir. Usually only a pair of
preachers arrived at one time. Three was a novelty in this small hamlet, which
boasted fewer than a hundred souls. Of the hundred, twenty considered
themselves believers. Unfortunately, the village priest was dead set against
anyone who as much as breathed any of the wicked heresy, which is what the
Catholic Church judged the Cathar religion to be.

Therefore, in order to not disturb the even tenor of the villagers who
lived closely-intertwined lives, the meeting was held out of doors in the late
afternoon sun in a forest clearing. The preaching was always done in the local
tongue called Oc, which was quite different from the language spoken by the
King of France and all his court. It was a language popularised by the
troubadours who went from castle to castle singing songs of love and composing
poetry.

On their way back to Lavaur, Arnaud was eager to question Bertrand
further, but the older man parried his questions skilfully without giving him
any real answers. “Be patient, my boy. All will be revealed to you in God’s own
time. First we must obtain lodgings for you in one of the houses of the
believers. You can rely on them to find answers to your questions. In the
meantime, I must ask you if
 
you
are still quite certain you do not wish to return to Ambres?”

“Perhaps in time I may,” said Arnaud, “but the wound is still too sore.
I should be grateful to obtain lodgings in Lavaur where I can see Maurina
growing up, even if I am not sharing a house with her. Perhaps I can find some
work to do. I am a leather tanner by trade and would be happy to find something
to occupy my time and pay for both my lodgings and those of the baby.”

Bertrand was pleased that Arnaud had finally mentioned the baby. He had
feared he might be blaming Maurina for her mother’s death and would wish
nothing more to do with her. He was glad his judgement had been mistaken and
was beginning to have high hopes for this young man, who might one day join his
flock of believers.

“I believe I know of a glove maker who may be able to use your skills.
It would not be in a tannery, but I am sure you would not mind that,” he said
with a glance at Arnaud’s still stained yellow hands.

Arnaud agreed wholeheartedly with him. He had never liked the smell of
the tannery or the dye that coloured his hands and clothes.
 

The trip home took a little less time than the journey there. Arnaud had
begun to loosen up and his muscles had stopped complaining about their
unaccustomed work. In fact he had begun to feel better than he had for months.
The worry of
 
his wife’s pregnancy
and her subsequent death had taken a greater toll on him than he had
realised.
 
Truth to tell his
spirits had been
 
immensely lifted
by the idea of
 
her reincarnation!

When they reached the gates of Lavaur, Arnaud took leave of the other
two men with a note of caution left in his ear by Bertrand. “You would be wise
not to speak of our trip to anyone other than those you know to be believers.
We are not exactly popular with the Church, and because of this, some of us
find it politic to attend mass as normal. I suggest you do this as well so as
to arouse no suspicion of your interest in us. The Catholic Church is beginning
to stir itself up against our people, and although our neighbours who are not
part of our church live happily amongst us, the priests have warned them they
could become tainted with the heresy we preach. You do not want to fall foul of
them at this time.” He did not add that falling foul of the Catholic Church was
an inevitable consequence of being a Cathar at any time.
 

Later that evening, when Arnaud knocked at the door of the Boutarras’
cottage, he could hear the sound of children playing. Looking through the
roughly curtained window, he could see Saissa sitting next to the fire with a
baby across her knee. He could not tell whether it was Maurina or Braida, but
whichever child it was, it was clearly happy because its eyes were beginning to
droop in that satisfied way that told of perfect contentment. The rosy glow of the
fire was reflected in the cheeks of the older children who were quarrelling
good-naturedly about some game they were playing. It looked a picture of
domestic bliss, uncommon enough in these times, and Arnaud felt a pang of
sorrow at what he would be missing now that his wife was dead.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door being unbarred.
Pierre opened the door and welcomed him warmly. “We were expecting you.
Bertrand called by earlier and told us you might be looking for lodgings nearby.”

By this time Saissa had put the baby down in its cradle and she bustled
forward to greet Arnaud. “Stop talking on the doorstep,” she said. “Let the man
come in first.” Arnaud smiled at her as she pointed to a place on the bench
near the fire. “Sit down and warm yourself. The weather is not getting any more
pleasant, is it?”