Aside from Heaven

Chapter 03C

In defense of the Catharians

Languedoc was, in Roland's eyes, beautiful. Green, things grew with ease, so much sunshine. Even with the onset of winter, with green things, growing things gone to the earth, the grape vines bare and skeletal, it was still beautiful.

But it was a surface beauty, which covered and concealed, if barely, the anger and distrust the people had for their masters, their church. There was war brewing, Roland could smell it. Even from the bow of the boat that moved up the Garonne River, with the smell of fish and dying vegetation so very prevalent, he could smell the discord of the land. The very hairs on the back of his neck prickled with it. When something peaceful was destroyed with violence, seeds of distrust were sown. Whatever the Church had decided to destroy, it destroyed everything in its path, including the innocent, which only made the discord grow worse.

And it would be crushed again and again, until another time and another place. But that was neither here or there. Eventually, The Church would be brought to heel. And the bearing of such would cause more blood to spill.

The Gentle Shepherd weeps at the blood shed in His name... but Man wants power and I am such a Man!

Roland's Occitan was perfection, spoken like a native, as was his langues d'oïl, and his Latin. His manservant, on the other hand, was English through and through, so he spoke little. He was also obviously his Master's rather visible muscle, although few men would want to tangle with Roland. There was an instance early on, in a little tavern a few days out, when someone decided to relieve Roland of his purse. In a span of seconds, the man found himself thrown from the building, bleeding profusely from his injuries, which included several missing fingers. Thomas was highly aggrieved that Roland did the work himself all to quickly, before his combined servant and guard had a chance to put down his rather dull eating knife and grab his own sword. He felt denied his sport! He snarled in silence as he picked up the dismembered digits from the floor and threw them into the ash bucket by the fireplace and righted his Master's chair before he returned to the table.

Roland perused the stunned room, which was terrified into silence. "Does anyone else desire to lighten my person?" He was met with shaking heads. "Good." He wiped his sword and knife on his napkin, before picking up his cutlery and resumed eating. Thomas did not sleep well that night, choosing to sit in a chair with his feet propped on the table, facing the door, which was barricaded and blocked by the chest.

After some days of hard travel, they arrived in Toulouse. In order to travel as quickly as possible, upon reaching Bordeaux, Roland took the Canal de Garron to Toulouse and from there he planned to purchase fleet horses travelling overland to Aiges-Mortes. After that, there would be a quick stop in Provencal, praying the Queen's family was in Avignon, rather than Marseille and then attempt to discern the fastest, but safest route back to Alise's arms.

He was missing his wife. Not just the comfort of her body, but he missed her mind, her intelligent observations, her laughter. Yet again, he was reminded of Genevieve and felt painful stirrings of not honoring the woman he was spending eight centuries and risking untold dangers to reach.

His dreams, were lurid. Dreams of the woman stretched and tied to a huge table, tied to the bed post and a strange -

vibrator

-object in his hand, welded like a weapon.

Dormir tranquille, Gui de Gisborne. Nous allons parler avant ce voyage est terminé et tout ira bien.

Sometimes, the woman was Genevieve. Sometimes, it was Alise. It was disturbing, to say the least.

Roland decided it was the river, the water, causing the nightmares. His loathing of water was well-known, even as a child. Eventually, water became something to endure during a bath. Traveling, however, caused nightmares and called up other unsavory memories not from this life.

The captain of the boat - if one could call him that - recommended a decent inn and tavern on the outskirts of Toulouse, one that upon closer inspection, didn't seem to have taken as much damage in the fighting, like those they had seen while passing down the river. The fare was serviceable and filling, the mattress was not disgustingly lumpy, and there was a beat up tub that, for a few extra coins of silver, was brought up and filled with reasonably tepid water for bathing. For not the first time while traveling, Roland was openly propositioned by the serving girls. Before his marriage, he was known to partake, if the girl looked healthy and was clean. But for now, he had no desire for fleshly pursuits. Oh, his member was all for a little temporary entertainment, but his heart and mind were at odds and Roland was discovering that when there was no desire, then his prick typically gave up the fight and slumbered on.

But he was grateful for the mildly warm bath he paid double for, and hung out his carefully rolled velvet doublet and best britches.

The following morning, after getting directions to Raymond's chateau from the innkeeper, he was met by a sullen servant, who looked apt to slam the door in Roland's face. "I need to see Raymond, Count of Toulouse." Roland nodded at the servant. "I have a message for him." Again, Roland's Occitan was flawless and he saw the flinch of surprise in the servant's face. Roland expected to have to make an appointment, so he had parchment ready to write down where he was staying.

"The Master is not seeing anyone."

"He will see me."

The servant sneered. "And who are you to demand to speak? Another one of the Church's minions? The French King's vassal?"

Roland leaned in. "I am Sir Roland FitzGisborne, Earl of Locksley, the Count of Aigues-Mortes and the Duke of Nîmes."

"Henri." A strong voice interrupted the repartee. "Let him in."

~~~...~~~

"You have married Alise." The two men strolled through the garden, the colors of it in the last vestiges of life. "Tell me how you came to meet her."

"King Henry introduced us in Bordeaux. We married in the late summer with his blessing."

Despite his strong voice, Raymond looked pale, as if he had been indoors a long time. He stopped at the various bushes, long fingers plucking off the dried and dead blooms. He flicked them to the ground. "Her grandfather left her moderately well-off and he gave guardianship over to Henry. It was a wise decision."

"He did not." Roland needed answers and he did not wish to waste time playing games and gaining trust. Time was not a commodity he had at his disposal. "Her father gave guardianship to Henry, to give her in marriage to a man who would respect her and ensure her grandfather's lands would not fall to the French King's like his will fall to Louis through his brother."

Raymond stopped, putting both hands behind his back. "Last I heard, Locksley did not have a lord."

Roland continued forward before turning to face the man before him. Roland could smell death, death upon the man, although he still had time. Roland knew Death's perfume intimately and Douma's spirit was nowhere near.

But her scent wafted in the air.

"Robin of Locksley's lands were taken from him by the Sheriff of Nottingham and given to Sir Guy of Gisborne. Sir Guy had a son, hidden from most and he left his legacy to him. That son was my father and I was given the legacy. I have used it to educate myself, became a knight, and have been in King Henry's service since I was young. King Henry saw fit to return my grandfather's title and lands to me."

Raymond snorted. "A bastard to marry my bastard."

Roland stiffened. "My parents were legally wed and loved each other very much."

Raymond lifted a hand. "I apologize. Peasants may love. Those of us with titles are not so lucky."

Roland relaxed a little. "I am fond of your daughter. She is not only beautiful, she is intelligent. She is beloved." He turned and nodded for Raymond to join him back in their stroll. "I do believe my man would stand between us if he thought I would lift my hand to strike her, which-" he interrupted the protest, "is not in my nature."

"And do you love the Church? Do you kiss the Holy Father's ring?"

"Not particularly." He leaned closer. "I would do what I have to do to keep the Church and Her thieves and favored thugs out of England and out of Aigues-Mortes. Louis will not get England, nor will he get what belongs to Alise in my lifetime." The last was spat through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, Raymond stopped, his face drawn. It was if he had aged 20 years in a moment. The sun, which was out, went behind a cloud and again, the elusive, drifting scent of Death lingered in the air. "You are staying in an inn?"

"Aye."

"I will not have it. I will not have my son-in-law staying where ruffians hide and the Pope has ears! Where is your man?"

"At the inn with our belongings."

Raymond nodded. "Henri will go with you to retrieve your servant and your things. All know him and will not give you or your man grief while he is with you."

"My Lord," with this, Roland showed much reverence to the man next to him. Henry was Roland's King, but with a breath, the younger man acknowledged that this man's station was above him as well and in the short time they would have together, there was much he could and would learn from him. "The world does not know she is your daughter. I would keep it thus."

Raymond smiled. "Of course. As you must. I am an old man. Let me lean on you back to the chateau. You will come for dinner and stay with me a few days. If anyone asks-"

"You are Henry's cousin and he was inquiring after your health and well-being. I am carrying a message to Queen Eleanor's parents and you were on the way."

Raymond was nodding with good cheer and a smile. "Good. Very good. I have much I wish to discuss with you, but I am tired and must rest. I tire easily anymore. I am old," Roland snorted at this, but kept quiet, "and weary of politics and religion. Bring your things, you will stay here and if the weather permits, we will stroll again here in the garden, when it is sunny and we may talk without fear of human crows who carry tales."

~~~...~~~

Dinner was excellent, the wine superb and after the meal, Roland and Raymond sat in a small room, with barren shelves and walls devoid of artwork. Raymond stared at the blank, desolate places, his eyes glazed, seeing in his mind what tapestries no longer existed.

They talked of small things, of nonsense. Raymond's bones creaked. A cold wind was blowing in and rain was eminent. This visit, which Roland wished to only last a few days, might last longer. He would be bored out of his skull if he had to tiptoe with Raymond.

But tonight was not the night to do so. Begging exhaustion from the long trip down the Garonne, Roland called for a bath and retired for the evening, leaving Raymond staring into the fireplace.

~~~...~~~

Roland reclined in the brass tub. The water was hot, deliciously so, and the heavy tapestries in the room blocked the cold from outside. It was rare when Roland enjoyed and dawdled in the tub, but tonight, he was doing so. The fire was roaring and the room was was gloriously warm. Thomas was vigorously scrubbing his lord's back.

"No less than three serving girls asked if you would like company tonight."

"And what did you tell them?"

"Lift your arms. I told them you were newly wed and disgustingly in love with your wife." The scrub brush would leave red marks, not that Roland minded. "Of course, I then told them I would happily enjoy their company this eve, as I have no wife, nor am I in love."

"All three?" He heard Thomas grunt in affirmation. "You are a reprobate. Your mother, if she lived, would cry." Thomas snickered at that. "I suppose you'll be wanting a dip in the bath water when I'm through?"

"Only if you've not pissed in it, my lord."

Finished with rinsing, Roland rose from the water, taking the bath linen from his servant. Stepping from the tub, he wrapped himself and stood in front of the fireplace, basking in the heat and ignoring the sounds of Thomas's clothing hitting the floor. "We will be here more than a few days."

"Not a good idea." There was a splash as Thomas slid into the bath. "Ah, this is wonderful. Still warm. Might I make use of your soap?"

It seemed a shame and a pity to waste warm bath water. Roland typically made quick work of his ablutions and openly offered the bath to Thomas since as far back as Roland could remember. "Have I ever denied you anything?"

"Well, there was that wench in York you didn't wish to share."

Roland snarled and scratched himself at the memory. "Be glad I did not." He shuddered and quickly changed the subject. "Why is staying here unwise?"

Now it was Thomas's turn to sigh. "Something's wrong with this place."

Roland continued to dry himself, before moving away from the fireplace and into the dim light where the bed was located. He slung the bath sheet over the chair situated at the foot of the bed and pulled his sleep shirt over his head. He then picked up the bath linen and lifting it over the carpet, returned to the bath. "Of course there is something wrong in this place. It is war torn and the only thing keeping the Church's minions from taking over is Raymond's acquiesces."

"Acquiesces?" Thomas snarked. "He handed them his only legitimate heir!"

"Shhh!" Roland shushed the man. Who knew what listening holes were behind the walls. "I don't believe he had much choice. He ensured her life, by marrying her to that arse. I would have done the same thing. At least they are of a like age!" He watched as his man finally nodded in agreement. "The Catharians have gone to ground. Just because one is innocent, doesn't mean the Pope's thugs will pay no attention toyou. Do you need me to scrub your back?"

"NO!" Thomas exploded. "That were fine when we were whelps together. You," he nodded while pouring water over his head, "are an earl now. And quite a few other things, I might add." He stood up, motioning for the linen. He wiped his face and wrapped it around his torso as he stepped out. Tossing his travel-worn clothing in the pile with Roland's, he quickly stepped into cleaner linens and shirt. "These people whisper. They think I'm just a dull Englishman, but I understand their words, just as well as you do." Now properly dressed, he moved close to Roland. "The longer we stay, the more attention we bring to the Count and to ourselves. No one trusts the other here. Who knows how quickly word will get back to Rome's belly or worse, to Louis. The only reason why the Count and his people haven't been slaughtered like the rest of them is because his daughter was all but sold to Louis's brother." The servant began to tuck his shirt into the waist of his breeches. "That French bastard will get this land sooner or later, probably sooner, but still they whisper. Anyone will do anything to ensure their life." His voice dropped. "Rumor has it there was a great treasure and library here at one time and now it's disappeared. Rome, as well as Louis, wonders where it went."

"We are here on Henry's business. Raymond is family."

"Don't matter. Louis has no love for Henry, no matter his wife is sister to Henry's queen."

"He covets what belongs to Henry."

"In a bad way."

Roland turned towards his servant and sniffed. "You smell better. Best enjoy your wenches tonight while you can. Keep everything at the ready in case of a hasty departure. We may have need of leaving without kind notice."

Thomas scooped up his and Roland's soiled clothes. "I'll drop these off at the laundry. Make sure they're done in the morning." The man started to leave, before whispering, "I don't like partaking in their food or wine. Servants be as bad as the church, sometimes." Roland was still staring at the fire, as the door shut behind him.

"Sometimes."

~~~...~~~

The sky opened up just before sunrise. It was a thunderous torture that made Thomas nervous as skittish cat. Roland was equally edgy, but appeared to be more adept at hiding it. Raymond showed him his home, pointing out various family heirlooms, Roland noticing that there was something odd about the tour; some rooms were newly painted, freshly cleaned. At times, Raymond seemed to linger over bare and desolate places, as if lost in thought, seeing in his mind what wasn't physically there. One would think a line as old and as noble as Raymond's would have more valuables, heirlooms out and about to show off, display the family wealth. But Raymond's home seemed quietly... dispossessed in some strange fashion. As they meandered from room to room, Raymond gently questioned Roland, asked about his family, his background, his father, but mostly, his grandfather, Gui de Gisbourne, whose life was already myth.

Just before dinner, the rain dissipated, the sun struggled to come from behind the clouds. Yet again, Raymond asked Roland to join him in the gardens. Roland noticed his father-in-law did not mind the puddles and took notice of each plant. "As an apple tree among the trees of the forest, so is my beloved among the young men. With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love. Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples, for I am sick with love. His left hand is under my head, and his right hand embraces me!"

"That is beautiful. Who wrote it?"

Raymond smiled, but didn't answer. "The garden is the only place I fear we may speak without incrimination," he began quietly. "Tell me of my daughter. Tell me Alise. I have not seen her in some years and she was as a gangly colt last I saw."

The conversation had been neatly steered from Alise for the last day. Roland sighed in relief once Raymond brought her up. "Not gangly anymore. She has blossomed, in full bloom, intelligent, compassionate and I enjoy conversing with her."

"She pleases you?"

Roland heard the question hidden beneath. "Aye. She pleases me and I pray I please her." For a moment, they listened as the wind blew the water from the bushes, a gentle patter of droplets hitting the ground. "Her opinion and desires matter to me. There are... areas where I feel she would be more adept than I to manage."

"So you will not take what is hers and forget that it is hers."

Roland squinted. "Of course, I will take what is hers and I will combine it with what is mine and it will be ours. It will belong to our children. The healthier our marriage and holdings are, the healthier the family and the future estate will be."

Raymond watched him closely, mulling his next words carefully. "So much has changed. The troubadours are gone, those of us who could afford them, cannot any longer. Our culture, our way of life is dying. Rather than create and prosper, as God would have us, we are stagnating and decaying under the auspices of an overly destructive church that cares only for control and money and not for people." The two men continued to stroll through a row of bare apple trees. "My daughter Joan has no love for me. She remembers me not, does not respond to my letters. She was taken from me and raised in the French Court; at age nine, she was married to the king's brother. Had she stayed here, she would have been educated in many subjects, allowed to become a woman on her own terms, have a say in who she wished to marry. She would have choices, allowed to maintain her lands, her estates.

"And now, Joan has nothing. She is nothing. When I die, everything that should have been hers, will be handed to Alphonse. And unless they have children, which it appears they will not, everything will be handed to Louis and this," he gestured to the magnificent garden and home, "will become France. Joan has no say, no choice, no opinion, no will. She has everything and yet she has nothing.

"My legitimate daughter was forcibly taken from my household, where she would have been educated and raised as an equal, intelligent human being, with choices and she is now chattel, a way to gain property. She would have inherited Toulouse and married as she wished and controlled her destiny. Louis and Alphonse stole it from her and she'll be taught to believe it was their right to steal it because she's just a woman and isn't capable of controlling her own destiny. Joan has forgotten her culture, forgotten her language, she sat and did nothing when the Church murdered her people and felt no sympathy for them. She might try to ensure her cousin, Pierre Bermond d'Anduze inherits Toulouse, but the French Parlement will not allow it. They will steal it from her in death. Do not do that to Alise."

The man's words burned in Roland's belly. Back, before he first drew breath in this life, he remembered Guy, remembered being Guy, remembered how he felt powerless and alone when the bailiff stole what was his and how he fought to regain it, was still fighting. He remembered how he felt when Marian mocked him, how he felt when he killed her. He remembered Genevieve...

In a swift movement, he turned to face the Count, towering over the man. "Your daughter is a Catharian, as are you, and while I have no problem with how she communes with the Almighty and have told her such, Henry will not tolerate the Pope on English soil, mindlessly slaughtering his people, nor does he wish Louis to cast covetous eyes on his lands. I am... I have feelings for my wife, she is the foundation on which I plan to build my life. All of our children, male and female, will be educated, will be granted every bit of knowledge that is at our disposal, whether the Pope likes it or not. I will protect her and hers in every way I can. That includes what is hidden at or in her grandfather's chateau." Roland sank to one knee, mindless of the mud. "My lord, please, help me protect what belongs to my wife. What is concealed at Aigues-Mortes that cannot fall into Innocent's clutches?"

"Innocent," Raymond scoffed. "That menace is anything but innocent."

"Oh, agreed he is a monster," Roland swiftly concurred, "but I would ensure whatever is shrouded and cloaked, will remain so, or at the very least, kept out of hands which would rain hellfire on Alise's home."

Raymond liked the young man kneeling in front of him. Liked him a lot. For some odd reason, he trusted him, certainly trusted him more than anyone else walking these days. Men he used to converse with, debate with, were dead or hiding, as he himself was hiding. He certainly liked him more than he liked his royal son-in-law, who held him in such contempt. He hated the thought of his daughter being forced to lay beneath him at night. He knew liars and while Roland FitzGisborne hid things, he was not a liar. "You are Henry's Eyes."

"I am called many things." Roland raised from his knee. "Bastard, most of the time."

Raymond smiled and shook his head. "Your father perhaps, but his father acknowledged him, if you tell true and I believe you do." The man began to nod. "Aye. Henry's Eyes and Ears, you are. You and your man. He chose my Alise's husband well. Thank him for me." He watched as Roland dusted as much mud from his trousers as possible and then they moved on. "You will find Eleanor's parents in Avignon at this time of the year I believe. All should be as loving as they, marrying all five of their daughters to kings." Roland realized they were now meandering back towards the chateau. "Leave tonight quietly, while the household is asleep, long before dawn. Go to Avignon over land. It will be easier. When you depart, sail the Rhône to Arles and then take the Petit-Rhône. Take your time and enjoy the beauty of the countryside. You will see Alise's grandfather's chateau from the river. Be prepared to have your breath taken away. I understand the steward is capable, can be trusted, and is taking care of the home."

"My lord, you have not told me-"

"Alise's grandfather was a scholar. He believed in education for all and collected many works and papers. He liked to translate things."

Ah. As I assumed...

"My lord, where are Alise's grandfather's scholarly writings? Where," he pressed, "are yours?" Roland dropped his voice, although they were most definitely alone. "Have you hidden them at your estate in Limoux?"

Raymond stopped and smiled. "Why, God's truth, I do not know." He leaned towards the younger man. "I would rather see them burned than fall into the wrong hands, however, I pray whoever finds them would realize what a treasure they have and would do what they could to save them. The longer you stay here, the more in danger you and your man are in." Raymond reached out and patted him heartily on the shoulder. "Allow me to feed the two of you well this evening. Tell your man the larder is never locked or guarded and I have two brown stallions that I won't notice are missing. Both are fleet of foot and have no discernible or unique markings. Please take the less ornate saddles. I like you Roland FitzGisborne. Take good care of my Alise. She is a gift. Tell her I love her." He raised a finger. "The poet was King Solomon. If you get a chance, you should read his songs of love. The Church would destroy them if they could."

And with that, the man walked back into the house, muttering to himself. "Limoux? Limoux? Bah!"

tbc

Dormir tranquille, Gui de Gisborne. Nous allons parler avant ce voyage est terminé et tout ira bien. Rest easy, Gui de Gisborne. We will talk before this journey is complete and all will be well.

Note: Joan, Raymond's only legitimate child, and Alphonse, the King of France's younger brother, had no children. Alphonse's death without heirs raised some questions as to the succession to his lands. One possibility was that they should revert to the crown, another that they should be redistributed to his family. The latter was claimed by Charles of Anjou, but in 1283 Parlement (which was the French Governing body) decided that the County of Toulouse should revert to the crown, if there were no male heirs. Alphonse's wife Joan (who died four days after Alphonse) had attempted to dispose of some of her inherited lands in her will. Joan was the only surviving child and heiress of Raymond VII Count of Toulouse, Duke of Narbonne, and Marquis of Provence, so under Provençal and French law, the lands should have gone to her nearest male relative, however, in this case the closest relative was a female, Philippa de Lomagne (daughter of Arnaud III Odon, Viscount of Lomagne and Marie d'Anduze, in turn eldest daughter of Pierre Bermond VI d'Anduze, eldest son of Constance of Toulouse eldest half-sister of Raymond VII). In her will dated 23 June 1270, Joan declared Philippa as her universal heiress. But, her will was invalidated by Parlement in 1274. One specific bequest in Alphonse's will, giving his wife's lands in the Comtat Venaissin to the Holy See, was allowed, and it became a Papal territory, a status that it retained until 1791. Raymond's fears came true.

For more information on the Catharians, I found this website very helpful.

3w's dot cathars dot info (blackslash)