LOVELY TO THE DYING

Book I: Crusade

by

Marilyn M Schulz

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PUBLISHED BY:

Marilyn M Schulz

Lovely To The Dying

Book I: Crusade

Copyright © 2010 by Marilyn M Schulz

Cover Art:

Farmer Noah (Mosaic in Basilica di San Marco)

13th century

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(use of the image does not imply endorsement)

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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LOVELY TO THE DYING

Book I: Crusade

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"The guardian angels of life fly so high as to be beyond our sight,

but they are always looking down upon us."

“The purer the golden vessel, the more readily is it bent;

the higher worth of woman is sooner lost than that of man.”

“The darkness of death is like the evening twilight;

it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.”

Quotes by Jean Paul Richter, (1763 - 1825)

German novelist and writer

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PART I - The Herbal Garden

In the hills above the village of Beaux,

near the River Aude, Langue d’Oc region,

Southern France, Late Summer, 1243 

Renata smiled fondly as the little girls wondered in the herbal garden. There were truly more than a handful, and much more interested in the flowers and the occasional butterfly than the healing properties of the plants. That was not unusual, these things still seemed magical to her too.

A large bumbling honey bee hovered in front of Abella’s face. The little girl screamed and ran the other way. Abella was the youngest child, the smallest too, but she was also the smartest. What followed was inevitable: All the others did the same thing as Abella.

One of the girls fell in the milieu, painfully twisting her knee. Jagged little rocks from the path were now embedded in the skin, and it was bleeding profusely. She was a brave little thing, Celine—youngest daughter of the tanners on the far side of the village—and for good reason.

Tanning was a foul-smelling affair, both from the raw materials required and the processing agents like manure, urine, or animal brains.

Animal skins arrived stiff with blood and bits of flesh still attached. The hides had to be soften by soaking, then pounded to remove any remaining gore before scraping off the hair so the final tanning process could begin.

It was an unclean, smelly trade and set aside from the normal bustle of the other merchants and their dwellings. The tanner’s large family was so used to semi-isolation and constant taunting—Smelly Celly—none of them complained anymore.

Renata rushed over and pushed up the little girl’s hem, then dabbed at the blood with her own apron. She called for someone to bring water, then gently washed the wound and began to pry out the rocks. Celine muffled her cries, as the pain must have been fierce.

Meanwhile, the little girls gathered around, fascinated.

Renata tried to shame them away, but with no success at all.

One pronounced sagely, “Letalis.” Mortal.

The little girls were learning Latin, partly in naming the plants, but also from other things. Bibles were only available to the clergy or the rich, but Latin was the language of the Gospels. It was not uncommon for the Credentes here to discuss those topics in a family setting, with girls as well as boys.

Deals of trade was mostly verbal, sealed by oath in other places, but not around here. Many people in the area didn’t take oaths at all, so writing and reading were more common ways of conducting their commerce instead. Hence, teaching and learning were treated as expectations, a form of respect and enlightenment, and therefore as gifts from God.

It wasn’t a common sentiment in the world, she knew, and especially when it came to girls. But Renata found that children were like drying-cloths: They soaked up many things from all around them—whether you wanted them too or not.

Another little girl agreed that it would be the death of Celine, and that they would have to bury the girl in the nettles to keep the wild pigs from digging up the grave.

But the others were not so sure. Nettles stung, after all. What would keep out the pigs would also hurt them in the digging. They decided she would not die after all, which would save them the trouble of burying her smelly corpse.

One said, “Look at all the blood. It will ruin her dress.”

Another offered, “Will they have to cut off her leg like they did with my Uncle Gervais?”

Her uncle from the north had been a Crusader in the Holy Land. Renata doubted that his wound had come from ministering or learning, more probably a consequence of combat.

One said, “Her clothes will fit me—if she still dies, I mean.”

The sentiment was all too hopeful. An argument then arose as to where Celine’s meager possessions might eventually end. It was a tragedy—their fellow student’s impending doom—but the little girls saw no reason for such useful items to go to waste, particularly since she didn’t have any younger sisters. All the clothes would need is a good washing, and didn’t they all know how to do that as well?

But it was enough to press the issue in the wounded girl’s mind. Celine rose bravely and tried to walk, but could not. This would not do, harvest was coming soon enough, and everyone in the village had to help out—even the tanner’s family, who had many hands to lend. 

Renata said, “We might as well learn something from this minor calamity Do not fear, Celine, it may not be mortal after all.”

Provided it didn’t get infected. There were plenty of droppings from the animals that traveled up and down this path into the high mountain valleys for grazing. Such filth was a sure way of getting any wound angry, which often lead to festering and fever.

Renata added, “Girls, who can find me arnica and basil?”

The little girls groaned, and some even seemed disappointed. But then Cebille, Renata’s friend and helper, called them away to gather up what was needed. The young woman looked back to Renata because she also knew the danger.

Renata nodded and whispered under her breath, “Dei gratia.”

By the grace of God.

Renata settled Celine back to the ground, and she could tell the little girl was doing her best not to cry out, though Celine could not contain the whimper that escaped. Renata then laid one hand on the little girl’s forehead, the other on the hurt knee. Celine flinched, but made no other sound now, but the trust in her young eyes was reassuring.

Renata began to breathe deeply, evenly, and told Celine to do the same thing. In a moment, their skin-to-skin contact grew overly warm.

But the little girl began to relax, then grew very sleepy. Renata stroked the child gently between her closed eyes with a thumb while her hands were still in place on head and knee. In only a moment, the little girl nodded off to sleep.

Renata closed her eyes as well. The sounds of the girls arguing over leaves and stems versus flowers—prettier must be more healing—droned into a gentle buzzing like the honey bees.

The whispered words came unbidden to Renata’s lips—she didn’t know what they meant anyway. She never had an understanding of them, nor a way of stopping them—they just came.

Angel-speaking, her grandmother called it. It came on with the healing that flowed through her hands. Her father had it too, this gift, but he hadn’t used it since he was a young man. Renata had never seen it in him, though her mother had. It made most people uneasy, and worse.

Devil’s-tongue, others had called it instead. It was enough to get you burned as a witch. That’s why Renata’s father had stopped, and that’s why she did this in secret.

A deep tingling began, first at the top of her head, then washing down her face and neck and out through her arms like she was lying down in warm bubbling water rushing over her body completely, muffling all sounds.

Renata took a deep breath, then let it out with a great sense of joy. She knew that Celine was now healing, and felt herself laugh in gentle relief.

It had always seemed like a miracle to her, but this feat was not uncommon for people from her father’s people far to the north. Salii, they had been called once, but that was a long time ago. She did not know what had become of them, nor if they were anymore.

It was not common knowledge, as many people were still superstitious, even here. Especially since the northern knights and Dominican Inquisitors had come to the region, and the Crusades had begun in violent earnest against the Perfecti and now the Credentes, the ordinary Believers, as well.

Renata took another deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the pain come to her instead. Gradually, it would fade away, it always did. Sometimes slower than others, and also depending on the harm.

Someone spoke quite near and quite loud: “Is she dead?”

Of course, it was Abella. Renata opened her eyes.

“No,” said another. “I think she just fainted from the pain. She really is quite a baby.”

Celine woke then. The little girl blinked and slowly bent her hurt knee. It did not hurt so much, and the swelling was down. She didn’t even flinch when the girls clumsily tended her wounds, which seemed to feel better now.

When she rose, the little girl gingerly tested the limb. It seemed sound enough, and even the bruising was fading.

Renata said, “Good, we can get on with our lessons.” When she rose, her own knee was painful. That was part of the healing, taking the other’s pain. Cebille put a hand to her shoulder in silent sympathy, and the smile they shared between them was comforting.

Few knew of this gift, Renata’s mother and grandmother, and Cebille. For others, she could not usually explain her sudden pain or weakness, and many in the village mistook her for a weakling. It was a small price to pay for not being burned, and she found other ways to be useful.

The herb garden was nestled far uphill between the cliffs and the village. Trees had been cut to build terraces into the hillside here for the garden plots. This allowed for long hours of mid-day sun with more heat and brightness than anywhere else. It made the garden come to life earlier in the spring and stay warm longer in the autumn.

It was perfect for the herbs and flowers and shrubs that served the healing and culinary purposes of their entire village. Renata and her mother tended the plants, and now Cebille was here to help as well.

Cebille was a widow, but had been a friend since Renata first came here as a child. Years ago, when Cebille left with her new husband to live in a nearby fishing village, they even passed letters via troubadours and traders who constantly went through.

Now Cebille was back with her daughter, Abella, to live with her parents again. Their family trade had been weavers for generations, and some of the plants grown here were used to dye the threads, yarns and cloth.

She was Renata’s best friend, and Abella was the best in her class of all the little girls in the village who had been summoned to work in the gardens. It was an honor really, learning such a trade, but not everyone saw it that way.

Healing was discouraged for women these days, given over to Holy Brothers instead. But there were few monks around here, they came and went sporadically. The village had a church with a bell, a gift from a liege-lord Crusader long ago. But it held no regular priest as the village was poor and often the people did not pay their tithes anymore.

Renata called the girls back to their work. Today, they were only weeding. In mid-day summer, the cliffs became too hot, so they had to finish up before long into the day. She heard the call of a falcon then, and shaded her eyes to the sun as she looked up to see the beautiful bird.

If you climbed on some of the rocky crags behind them, you could see the river far down in the valley below. Climb higher still, and it got cooler up there, but Renata didn’t know anyone who had done that except Cebille when she was eleven or twelve. Cebille knew these cliffs like the back of her hand—she had always been more adventurous than Renata, who never got much higher than a tree.

There were vineyards on the other hillsides, and groves of olive trees and cypress here, and small fields of grain too further down in the valleys. Most people had gardens, though with vegetables and herbs for seasoning, not many with healing herbs like these.

This was quite the most lovely place that Renata could imagine. This village was her home now and had been for many years. She could barely recall the mountains at all, though she dreamed about them sometimes still. They were funny things, those dreams, for she could not remember the details, only the feelings when she woke.

Sometimes, they were lonely.

Other times, they were fearful.

She didn’t know why, she remembered the journey away quite well, though little of her life before. Still it seemed normal enough, and her mother spoke of it sometimes quite fondly. The only sorrow was in her father’s death, and also the sadness when he first went away on Crusade.

Renata called to Cebille, “We need to gather pennyroyal and nettle.”

The little girls groaned. Pennyroyal discouraged fleas in their sleeping mats, and they had not complaint about that. But the nettles were another story. Nettle had many uses, though long sleeves and gloves or covering clothes were required in the picking because they didn’t call them stinging nettles for no reason. It was hot work on a good day, and this day was hotter than most.

She couldn’t blame them, but harvesting nettles was a necessary evil, and secretly, she was glad of all the help.

Renata had come here when she was not much older than her charges now. She had learned herbal healing from her mother, who learned it from her mother before, and on back for as long as could be remembered.

They had been happy enough as mountain people then, until her father died. His meager lands had been granted to him for his lifetime, but not beyond—also his title, given for heroic service in the Holy Land, was now gone.

Her mother had been granted leave to stay in the house there for the rest of her life. It was a kindness, but the lands and income reverted back to their liege lord. With little income for upkeep or to feed them, they had few options.

Besides, Renata’s grandmother did not take the high-mountain winters so well anymore, and so they returned here to what had been her family’s village. It was a lovely place that hadn’t changed much in the generation since her mother had left. The whole area caught lovely warm winds sometimes from the wide mouth of the river and the great southern sea beyond—what the Roman’s had called ‘Mare Nostrum.’ Latin for Our Sea.

After a few years here, her mother married a well-to-do man in the village and bore him a son and a daughter. The son died before becoming a man, and the father not long after.

They had great comfort here all the same, with friends and relations, and people of like mind. And a living from the herbal gardens above the orchards, which were all her stepfather’s lands and now her mother’s, and would someday be Renata’s and her half-sister’s.

Giggling erupted, disrupting her thoughts and their work. The little girls had become distracted by some of the village cats who had discovered the catnip patch.

Renata laughed, calling, “Come Cebille, help me round up the strays.” She called them all to her—the little girls, not the cats—and started to explain about dandelions.

“There are uses for all parts of the plants: the flowers, the roots, the leaves and stems. Each part is different, yet they all form the one, like your fingers are all different from one another, also different from your toes.”

One of the girls added, “My father said that some folks don’t know that their heads are different from their—“

The little girls started to giggle uncontrollably.

Renata spoke more loudly, “They must be collected and preserved separately, because each has a purpose—“

Someone screamed.

The sound was nearby, but not one of these.

Another bee? Another game? I really must get through these lessons, Renata thought. When harvest time comes to the valley, there will be no more time for learning here.

But more screams came—not the merrily-frightened cries of a child in summer, but these were frantic and severe.

Cries and groans came from men as well.

Pain, fear—desperation.

Something was terribly wrong down in the village.

They couldn’t see from here, only the tops of some of the buildings scattered amongst the tree tops.

Suddenly, the church bell began to toll.

Renata said, “Cebille, continue with the lesson, I fear someone has gotten into the honey bees and needs some tending for the stings.”

She knew it was not true, but the lie was justified if it kept the little girls calm. After all, hadn’t they just been scared the same way? Better to think of such innocent things than the rumors that had been running through the villages lately. Renata only heard them because she traveled in her healing, delivering poultices, unguents and pastilles.

She mounted onto the mule and meant to make her way quickly down to the village. But what she saw from the first bend in the path was such a horrible sight, she quickly turned the beast aside.

From shelter of a grove, she saw more soldiers ride by in a terrible frenzy. Their livery was not known to her, they were not from the houses of any lords around here. The orders thrown out by unknown commanders sounded foreign and hostile: They were from a northern language.

She climbed into a tree with difficulty for her hurting knee. From there saw that her village was being overrun by Crusaders. Women and children were being rounded up, men were killed wherever they might stand, or worse, even when they fell on their knees to beg for mercy or pray.

Renata knew it was true then.

The soldiers of the Pope and the French king had come to kill them. Heretics. That’s what the invaders called the people here, and Renata knew that she would be accused of witchcraft too. No sword for her, not even hanging. They would listen to how she helped people in pain, then pronounce her evil for thwarting God’s plan.

Such balms were against ‘Deo favente,’ God's favor. Suffering was a punishment that must be born as God’s punishment for earthly sins.

They would burn her, and maybe her mother and grandmother too. Maybe even Cebille, and worse, the little girls. Thought of harm to the little ones was too much to consider, but their potential screams came to her mind unbidden. She closed her eyes and pushed those horrible thoughts away.

She had to do something. Her own pain was forgotten.

Renata made her way down the tree and back onto the mule with some difficulty now because the beast was quite jittery. She rode hurried back to the herb garden—back to the little girls. She called aside Cebille and told her the absolute truth. They agreed the least said about the reason was best for now, but they had to get the girls to safety.

Cebille said, “Let us make it a sort of game then. Find a particular plant found only on the upward side of the cliffs. It will seem like reason enough to travel so far from here.”

Renata had only a moment to consider. “Yes, that would be well, shall we try it then? Perhaps it would be best if you were to say it, I fear my own voice is shaking.”

Cebille squeezed her hand tightly, then led the little girls away. As usual, there were stragglers, and Renata tried hard not to be frantic as she took up the rear.

To her horror, but not unexpected, one or two of them began to ask questions and the others followed suite:

“What is that noise, are those people in pain?”

“Should we not give them a tonic or something?”

“I smell smoke, something is burning!”

“I want to see Mama, she said to be home by the first bell, I have to help with the churning today.”

Renata didn’t quite know what to say. She decided on the truth after all. “Some soldiers are attacking the village, we must hide until they go away.”

The little girls gathered around her.

“Mama! Will Mama be all right?”

“They should tell them to just go away.”

“They will hurt my dog, I know it. And my brother, what of him?”

“Papa well turn them away!”

Renata and Cebille exchanged glances. Cebille moved over and spoke lowly, “We will never make it all the way to the top, I fear. I know a cave on the way. There is water near and berries from an old hermit’s attempt at the Garden of Eden. His lean-to hovel burnt down long ago, but there are still remnants of his farm and orchard. I have groats for the mule in my bag as well, we can eat those if we must. We can stay there for a while, even days, until we know it is safe.”

Renata agreed, but she said, “I must go back, see if I can help.”

Cebille cried, “No please. . .”

But she knew it must be so, she wanted to know of her family and friends as well.

They hugged, and Renata quickly kissed each of the little girls, telling them they must be brave, and above all, be very quiet until she got back. Then she rode the mule back toward the village, taking care to stay in the cover of the trees on the way.

* * *

As she neared the first outbuildings of the village, she knew she had to leave the mule behind, as they made too big a target together. Renata slipped down and threaded her way through the bushes in back of the blacksmith livery stables. All the time she heard crying and calls for mercy.

None of the pleas did any good. It seemed that no one would be given any such thing this day.

She slipped inside the livery barn and up to the loft. From there, she saw her half-sister, Joceline, still outside. Joceline was blonde and very pretty and was the sweetest person she knew. Joceline did not take to the garden, but did lovely sewing, and she could bake a few things. She was only fourteen, and not so bright as curious about things.

Joceline would want to see what was happening instead of finding safety and shelter. Now she was being forced to flee, but was soon chased down by a knight in partial armor. Only his chest was covered with metal. His head was topped by a cowl of mail, and his arms were covered in mail too.

Renata whispered a prayer aloud, but she knew that no one could be listening. How could God sanction this? And of  course she would be drowned out in her prayers by more desperate pleas. Then she chastised herself for her doubts.

“God has a purpose in all things. Deus vigilo.”

God watches.

He must, but why would he allow such things? But she knew the actions of these men had nothing to do with God. The world was wicked, it had always been so. Hadn’t her father gone on Crusade himself for such things. Nothing much had changed since then, it seems.

Joceline had fallen, but she got up and turned toward her attacker. She was backing away from the danger, but tripped again. Renata feared her sister would be run over by the deliberately plodding war horse, and she put her hand to muffle her cry of anguish. But the knight pulled up the horse before it trampled her sister. He slid off as fast as he could, which was not swift, but very deliberate.

Joceline reached up, her hands held out in plea. The knight stopped, all the while staring down. Then he laughed. Renata heard him say, “My, my, such a helpless little thing.”

For a moment, Renata thought that maybe the knight would help Joceline in her need. She was very pretty, many boys in the village did things for Joceline to win her favor. In her simpleness, her sister didn’t know why they did it, nor did she remember from week to week.

But to Renata’s horror, the knight laughed and kicked her sister instead, then drew his sword.

Renata held her breath, trying to remember some sort of prayer. Hoping if it was death for her sister, that it would be very quick. But just then her mind was blank, and she felt a great swell of pain in her chest. She tried not to heave as her stomach rebelled, and she knew it was useless to cry out.

She looked around for a weapon, something that could help, but there was nothing. She had never hit anything or anyone before. She wasn’t quite sure how to do it. She had no strength left anyway

The knight didn’t strike at her sister with his sword, to her great relief, but slid the sword under Joceline’s gown and then up. That was worse. It slipped through the fabric with no effort at all, and the gown fell open, revealing Joceline’s young body beneath.

Her sister was bleeding now, the blade had caught the flesh on her leg, slicing it open in the very worst place. Blood was pumping, pumping along with Joceline’s heart beat.

Renata couldn’t help herself, she rose to go down below to help. But by the time she got down the loft ladder, she could see that the knight was now on top of her sister, grunting, defiling—raping.

Joceline was screaming, the knight paused and lifted up enough to slap her across the mouth. Renata looked around for a weapon again, anything would do. She had to help in some way, if only from anger and nerve.

But what could she use? How would she use it? Did she even have the strength? She picked up a pitchfork anyway.

By the time she turned, it was over. It had only been a few moments, but it was done. The knight grunted in some kind of final pleasure, but beneath him, all movement had stopped.

When had Joceline stopped crying?

Stopped fighting?

Stopped living?

Someone called from nearby, “Amauri, finish it there! We have more heretics running away. Come, there will be more sport, I have a wager with Morenci on how many heretic children will fit on his lance end to end.”

The knight swore, but called, “When I am finished and not before.”

“The commanders want to know who we should bring to the Inquisitor, sire.”

“None,” the knight roared.

It was then that Renata noticed the great stream of blood flowing from her sister into the muck of the stable. It pooled in the filth, and already flies were buzzing around the new vile stench.

The knight crawled off Joceline then and wiped his sword on her gown. Some blood from her wound was on his armor. He used her gown to wipe that too. When he rose, he kicked her again and spat on her body. Then he grabbed her hair, kissing her dead mouth savagely. He pulled his knife and sliced off a long lock of her hair.

The knight then called out a terrible order, “Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius.”

Kill them all, for the Lord knows His own.

He got no argument from anyone near.

Renata realized she had been holding her breath. She swallowed and let it out slowly so as not to make any noise. Her sister’s eyes were still open, so was her mouth in a silent, useless cry. To Renata’s further horror, the knight then tied Joceline’s shorn hair onto his horse’s reins, but there were other long locks of hair already there.

Renata felt heat overwhelm her. She had seen this before, not here, but. . .

She dropped the pitchfork and started to retch, falling down to her knees. Outside more soldiers were making their rounds to pick at any survivors. Some called to each other in Latin now, but she had heard French and German before. Most villagers were killed instantly, some invaders raped whoever was left: women of any age, girls, even boys.

The heat had passed, so had the weakness it brought to her limbs. She no longer heard any Latin, but wondered then if she ever did. Renata slipped out the back and ran towards where she had left the mule.

It was gone, she hadn’t tied it tightly enough. It must have run from being so frightened of the noise and the smell of the smoke and the blood. That was all that was left of the village.

“I must save the little girls.”

Renata ran back to the herb garden, trying to stay off the main path as much as she could. Sometimes she had to hide, as soldiers rode back and forth, looking for people like her, she assumed.

She made her way to her stepfather’s orchard on the far side of the foot of the cliffs. That’s as far as the little troop had made it too. Aside, she told Cebille the truth. Cebille crossed herself, then murmured a prayer for Joceline, and so many others. Renata didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that it probably did no good.

Cebille then said to them all, “We must go further, our families will meet us in the next village.”

The little girls were silent, as if they knew anyway. Abella was the first to start crying. But they were silent about it. Bless them for that, Renata thought.

She said, “Come, we will take the cliff path up and around.” They knew no horse could follow them there, at least not a war horse with a rider, particularly one in armor.

One said, “I am so frightened.”

Abella said, “Not I, your brother is scared to go by way of that path. I will tell him I went there and so did you.”

As they made their way through the edge of the forest below the foot of the cliffs, one said, “Why can we not walk on the road down there? It is wider and not so steep and there are not such big rocks.”

Abella said, “The road is too far below and much farther around, and there are muck piles from the animals traveling through. This is a much better path unless you like stepping in the doo.”

Some of the little girls laughed, nervously.

Cebille added, “You will not find amica or calendula or clary on the road. Only ruts and manure, that is true. There is no room for roses or berries either. Look around as you walk. There is no reason this can not still be a lesson.”

Some of the little girls groaned.

Others hissed for them to be silent.

Renata glanced back to Cebille. Bless you too, she thought. But she knew they were in more danger than ever. As they climbed, Renata looked back to see just a part of the village. From down there, she knew they could be seen too.

More of the troops were spanning out to look for stragglers and survivors. She knew what would become of them if found, and quickly too. She hurried the girls along, letting them pass her, telling Cebille to take the lead as she motioned back down to the village.

Cebille glanced back and quickly passed, but then paused.

Renata whispered desperately, “Do not dawdle.”

Cebille said to the girls, “I know a stream near a patch of red clover. The first one to find it gets an apple and a handful of honeyed walnuts.”

Renata said lowly, “I must try and block the path and if I cannot do that, I will distract anyone else who would follow.”

Cebille whispered skeptically, “How will you do that?”

“I have my walking stick left there against the willow tree. And there are rocks. I did not see any archers, thank God for that.”

“If they have armor? What good will rocks do with that?”

“It will make a noise. Listen for that. Promise you will run if you hear it.” Renata then tried to laugh, but it came out a little frantic.

Cebille quickly hugged her and whispered, “Esto cum Deus.” Go with God. Then she hurried the girls along. “Look, up there. Who can tell me if that is feverfew or meadowsweet?”

“Meadowsweet should be in a meadow,” Abella said, scornfully. “My feet hurt already, and my back.”

“You sound like Renata’s grandmother,” another girl said. “Only she’s old and you are just spoiled.”

A few of the little girls laughed, and in a moment, the pathetic little troop was into the rocks and out of sight.

Just in time.

Not a moment later, a horse came round the bend. Not quickly, but lazily. A knight in partial armor. The colors on his horse were different though than the ones she had seen in the village. Renata didn’t know if she should feel relief or no. He was looking at the ground, as if trying to track.

Footprints were not that plentiful on the ground here, it was rocky at the foot of the cliffs. But the garden beds had been enriched with earth from the river delta down in the valley. It had been an arduous task that had seen the drowning of her brother and the death of her stepfather of heartbreak soon after.

Renata slipped behind a bush and gathered what rocks she could manage. As the knight approached she started to throw them, thanking God that her aim was good. She had always been good at downing apples and pears from the top of the trees.

But it was not good enough, he was coming too near. She turned to run up the cliff path. But she knew she must lead him in a different direction. Where?

Into the orchards? But there was no place to hide, all the underbrush had been cleared away with goat grazing. Perhaps she could hide in a tree, but she would be stuck there then. Eventually she would sleep and fall down, or worse, they could send for an archer.

The fields were even worse: Her like a rabbit in the open, and him on a horse.

Down the hill and towards the river then. It was farther, but she could dive into the water and float away, or hide in the rushes along the channel where the water moved more slowly. After her brother drowned, her mother insisted that Renata and Joceline learn how to swim. If she had any luck she could escape them without being eventually swept into the sea.

She took a deep breath and set out, but she didn’t make it far. Her feet moved slower than her wishes. Renata tripped and rolled down the hill. At the bottom, she hit her head on a rock.

She heard the knight swear, and call for someone named Raimond. That was the last thing she remembered as she passed out, but even then, trying to crawl away.

* * * * *

PART II - The Stables

On the edge of the village of Beaux,

near the River Aude, Langue d’Oc region,

Southern France, Late Summer, 1243

Sir Simon watched the woman for a moment until she stopped squirming. Then he realized she wasn’t going to get up. He swore under his breath and swung from his mount. Raimond de Trebes, Amauri’s useless squire, rode up behind him and looked like he was about to pass out himself.

Too young for this, Simon thought. Raimond wasn’t a boy, but he would have done better to become a priest.

“Instead of my brother,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Raimond said, a little frantic. “Should we not do something? What should we do?”

Sir Simon glanced around. Where was Perilla? He was better at this sort of thing. But his brother was bent over some plants in what looked like a garden of sorts. Simon decided he’d have to get the woman up from down there anyway.

He ordered Raimond, “Take word back to your master that there this side of the village is clear.”

“Shall I tell My Lord Amauri that you require assistance?”

“No, of course not. Say nothing of her, unless you want her blood on your hands. Now be on your way.”

The squire seemed relieved. He spun his horse around clumsily and left them in a hurry.

Sir Simon tied his horse to a bush and headed down toward the woman, swearing all the way.

He prodded her with his foot. Nothing. She had blood on her forehead. He hoped she was just knocked out, otherwise it would be too much work for the bother. He stooped and scooped her up.

She was lighter than she seemed. Thin, they were around here, they didn’t eat properly. Some of them, it was rumored, didn’t even eat meat. Foolish notion, what was the point of that?

Still, others didn’t eat so much, he knew, simply because they were poor. He didn’t put that sort of thing down to God’s blessing or no, as some folks did, including his brother. People weren’t rich because God favored them, they were rich because they were intelligent, cruel, or lucky—maybe all.

He called his brother over when he got back to the path. “Perilla, I have someone here that needs tending.”

His brother was a priest, but a healer too, and often a bit absent-minded. He was picking at the flowers in the garden, but he always did that sort of thing. Stripping tree bark, digging plant bulbs and roots of some sort, drying leaves and rinds and berries. His brother’s path always left behind a littered trail of those kinds of things.

Perilla said, “Why not just leave her, you know what will happen in any case.”

“I took an oath, so did you. Since when did that involve murder? Do not trouble yourself, brother, no one would ever mistake you for the Angel of Mercy. Such a one would be much prettier than you, I’m hoping.”

Not really true. Both men were quite pleasant to look at, though Simon, the elder, now had a few battle scars.

Perilla stood up and sighed. “Not this again. I told you before, I care about men’s souls—”

“This is a woman, what about her?” Simon knew his brother avoided the fair sex as a matter of course, even when he ministered in church. Female confessions were left to others if he could, but that was not often. Their mother had babied her youngest too much, and so Perilla had never gotten used to being on the giving end. 

The priest was shaking off dirt from the roots of some plant with a smooth waxy bulb. He stuffed it into his pouch as he said, “Women are inherently evil, you forget about Eve.”

Simon knew that particular notion was a result of his brother’s recent Church-instruction. But Perilla had always had a good bit of clumsiness around anything with breasts, except for their sister and mother, and maybe a goat or a cow.

This woman had nice breasts, Simon could tell, even if her shift was quite modest and the color of dirt. Her chestnut hair was held back in a simple way with a plain ivory sort-of-comb at the back that looked to be Spanish.

She had no other adornment except the few faint freckles across her nose and cheeks. He had seen the like before, and he liked it. Over the centuries, sea-going Viking and Celtic raiders spread their seed everywhere, it seems.

She was clean too, and smelled of some kind of. . . maybe it was flowers. Many people of humble means were not so tidy, he had discovered. He knew because many of the camp followers were not so interested in cleanliness as much as making coin or even just a meal in any way they could.

Still, Simon found it hard to judge. He was the eldest son, his title was hereditary, though his lands were minor, and his castle was really just a well-tended manor left in the capable hands of his mother and sister.

Their Norman family had several servants and tenant farmers too, as well as lands in England since the time when their liege lord, William, the Bastard of Normandy, conquered England with the help of Simon’s forefather. Through a great grandmother, he had another estate in Spain as well, which provided fine horses like the one he rode now, though there was no title there.

All his life, his family had never been in need. But since leaving home over a year ago, Sir Simon had seen too much of a sordid kind of world he knew existed, but had never had call to see. He had hoped to keep his brother from seeing the same kind of things, but so far, he’d failed in that too.

Simon said, “She needs our help. I thought you were a healer.”

“Very well, but only to shut you up.”

“Thank you, Perilla. Was it not Jesus who talked about loving thy enemy, that and something about forgiveness.”

His brother gave him a sheepish look, then leaned over Renata. He said, “She is breathing well enough, her heart seems strong. We could leave her here or take her down to the village.”

“They will kill her there. I never agreed to such as that. Those men turn to animals when they are set loose upon the people who can not even defend themselves. It always turns to unforgiving death and plunder. One day they will not have enough of either and turn upon themselves.”

His brother had heard this before, he knew it was true as well. He only said absently, “You agreed to serve God.”

Simon grunted his disgust. It was a common enough argument. He said, “Even you cannot believe that God has anything to do what is happening down below, Perilla.”

Perilla could not argue that point. He had tried it once, but it made no sense to him either. Still, he was not the one to make such ecclesiastical orders or offer forgiveness for sinner or martyr. That had been left to better men, holier men—supposedly.

He said instead, “I asked you to call me Father.”

“You are not my father, but my little brother, no matter what you wear and no matter what you swear.”

“I am also your priest, Simon, and you should be careful what you say around these men.”

He meant the soldiers in the village, some simple men-at-arms, some squires and yeomen, and some knights like himself. But Sir Simon was not really among them, he just traveled alongside for convenience sake. He had his own quest to fulfill and it had nothing to do with those men. Perilla, his younger brother by a few years, had always wanted to be in the Knights Hospitaller, but as a younger brother of so small a holding, that path was closed to him.

“Perhaps if I die,” Simon murmured.

Perilla seemed to know what he was thinking, he said, “Not even then, not now, anyway. I have committed myself to this Order and you have spent too much money on your pilgrimage to Jerusalem for me to buy my way into another. I serve God in another way. If you die before Marie has a son, the title will pass to a cousin, along with the care of our mother. I expect you to live long anyway. You are too stubborn and curious to die, you want to see what is around the next bend.”

Simon grunted his acknowledgment, but he murmured, “I wonder. . .”

“That was exactly my point,” Perilla said as he dampened the hem of Renata’s apron. He noticed the blood there already, and frowned, but dabbed the damp cloth along her forehead. He added, “What do you wonder?”

“I wonder what will happen when you have to chose between healing the body or saving the soul.”

“The soul is everlasting, the body is always corrupt.”

“Even in a child?”

“No, not in a child, they are innocent, but this is not a child. But perhaps you have not noticed her loveliness.”

His brother snickered, but Simon knew that if the woman awoke, Perilla would jump away as if her skin were made of fire.

He teased, “I thought Holy Fathers no longer noticed such things?”

“We say the vow to give up sins of the flesh, and even thinking of such things is a sin. But beauty as a gift from God comes in many forms. A flower, a bird’s song, a sunset—”

Simon cut in, “The face of a woman, the swell of her breast, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. . .”

The men looked down at her face. Her mouth was now open and drooling.

Simon chuckled and pushed a finger to her chin. “I know you particularly prefer silvery-gold hair, even if this particular woman is not to your liking. I’ve seen you look at Fleur Badeau since even before we were all in Sabbath Bible lessons.”

Perilla said with disgust that was only part Church-instruction, “A rich man’s daughter and spoiled. Girls should stay at home. Learning is wasted on them.”

Simon decided to provoke. “But they have souls too, women. And this one’s soul has quite lovely eyes.”

He had seen them even as she threw her stones. Green, turned up like a cat’s. Not a good comparison to make to a priest, given that witches and cats were said to be familiar companions to the Devil.

Simon continued, “Or do you deny now that woman was created of man to be his helpmate? Perhaps Eve was only so tempted because she was ignorant and could not think for herself.”

It was a circular argument they had discussed time and again. Temptation is diminished with knowledge, but the Tree of Knowledge was forbidden fruit. Knowledge for women was dangerous then, or at least, according to some.

“You sorely test my patience, Simon—“

”I will strike a wager with you, little brother. Call me Sir Simon from now until end of tomorrow, and I shall endeavor to call you Father after that.”

Perilla stayed his hand in his tending, but he couldn’t help the grin. He said, “You know as well as I that gambling is a sin.”

Simon laughed. “Come, this town has no public house or inn, and I fear they will come this way sooner rather than later. Collect what you can in a moment or two from the garden, then let us find shelter for the night before the others have a thought to settle in all the best places.”

The notion of renewing his herbal supplies made Perilla uncommonly happy. He offered as a sort of truce, “Perhaps in the livery barn, I saw some straw there to lay the woman and hay for your horse. With this breeze, I do not think the flames will have come this way, I can barely smell the smoke.”

Simon was amused, his brother had already thought of his comfort. Maybe there was hope for him yet. Simon said, “If you think it will be safe.”

“Only God can know such a thing, but I will trust in His Hand.”

“Very well, lead my horse, will you? The woman is not a sack of grain. I cannot sling her over the saddle, I will have to carry her myself.”

* * *

Renata heard murmuring and smelled animals. It was quiet now, and she was partially covered with straw. Slowly she opened her eyes, but only just a bit. She was inside somewhere, probably a barn, she decided. It was darker inside than out.

In the corner near the wide-open doors, a priest was saying last rites over a soldier. She knew it was not from the battle—there was none. The townspeople would not fight, most here didn’t believe in that sort of thing and what would be the use anyway? Plows and scythes and rakes against war horses, swords and armor.

The best they could do was flee. She hoped more got away than perished, but rumor revealed that in other places, that often had not been the case. Then she remembered Joceline and swallowed back a painful lump in her throat. She wondered if the priest had tended her sister like he now did with the soldier.

Probably not. Priests and Dominican brothers were amongst the invaders here. There was seldom comfort offered, only harsh judgment these days.

She realized she was in the livery stable. What had they done with her sister’s body? It was no longer where it was, but she could still see the blood.

What had happened to her mother and grandmother?

What about Cebille’s parents and the families of the little girls too?

Maybe I should not have run away, but stayed to tend to my family. . . if I have any family now. She felt the hot sting of tears and a drop roll down her temple. She did not move to wipe it, she did not move at all.

She heard someone talking then, men’s voices murmuring low. The soldier had died of fever, it seems, he was not the only one taken in the last few days.

God’s wrath, she hoped.

Immediately, she regretted the notion. She was a healer, she understood death and God’s role well enough. It was an excuse to balm the living, not the reason for the dying. That’s why the herb garden was so important. She hoped they hadn’t destroyed it. Ignorant people did terrible things: raped, killed, trampled and burned things. A few plants would mean not a thing.

She hoped they hadn’t kept her alive in order to do the same to her. It wasn’t witchcraft, what she did. God made the plants and everyone around here knew how to use them. How could such a thing be evil? Smell a rose, or use the rose hips and the petals to make a healing tea. Was there really so much difference?

But the Holy Brothers in their Holy Houses said that it was, and even more so, the priests. She knew they used the remedies amongst themselves. Perhaps it was only when a woman did such things. . .

None of them had a high opinion of Eve, Renata knew, or of Mary Magdalene, whom they now called a whore. What chance had women like herself, or her mother, or Cebille.

Burned at the stake as a witch. She could not imagine more pain. Perhaps what Joceline felt. The terror in her sister’s cries still echoed in her ears. Or maybe that was the pain from the fall down the hill, ringing, clanking like a bell.

No, that was the church bell, after all. But then she heard someone laugh. The soldier-invaders were playing then, ringing all clear. Ringing the bell to see if someone would be summoned from the groves and the fields.

If there was anyone left. 

Renata licked her lips, tried to swallow down the dry painful lump in her throat. Quickly she glanced around, did some one see her moving? She closed her eyes again, careful not to shut them too tight. She had seen enough of that in the little girls to know it could give her wakefulness away.

Someone else came in. The foot fall was heavy, and she heard the sound of armor.

“Help me take this off, will you, Perilla?”

The voice was deep and familiar. No one from the village. Nor was it the same voice as the man who attacked Joceline.

The priest answered crossly, “Can you not see I am busy, and in any case, I was never your squire. Ask Raimond, he is better at such things and he likes you better than his master anyway.”

“Raimond is nowhere to be seen or heard. He means well, but a clumsier squire I have yet to see. Amauri only sends him to me because he cannot tolerate the boy, but cannot punish him either, his family is too well connected. Perhaps you should convert him to your own calling, that would be a blessing for us all.”

The priest chuckled, saying, “More for you than for me. God helps us all for the asking, it seems.”

Renata squinted—just a peek. The man first talking was the knight she had seen on the path, to her great relief. At least he hadn’t raped her and left her there to die. Not yet, anyway. But if that’s what he had in mind for her, then why not there and then? Why bother to bring her here? Perhaps it was only a matter of comfort, or—

The knight called, “You there, come help me now.”

Renata thought for some reason he meant her.

What to do? Keep still? Play dead? Be dead?

But something rustled in the corner. It was a young man who regularly tended the horses here. His body was big, his age was near twenty, but his brain was still only a boy. His name was Alaire, it meant joyful. The boy was not joyful now. The blacksmith let him sleep in the barn and fed him once in a while.

At least he’s alive and had nothing much more to lose. He still had his home, she thought, such as it was.

Renata knew Alaire must be terrified and wondered if the boy even knew how to pray.

Then she smelled something horrid.

The priest said, “By Saint John and Saint Camillus, pray what is that?”

The knight said, “The wind shifted, they are burning the bodies.”

The priest cried out, “But they haven’t been shrifted, there has been no last rites.”

“I told you it was this way. No quarter offered and no repentance accepted. They died without forgiveness. You didn’t believe me, I can see that now. Be glad you found out this way.”

“I thought you—“

Suddenly, a scream ripped the air.

“My sweet Jesus,” the stable boy said. Then he dropped to his knees in his own prayers.

“Simon, what is that?” the priest said. “Are they still killing?”

The knight made the sign of the cross before answering. “In a round about way. Someone they have dumped on the pyre appears to have been still alive. They do not last long in their suffering, but I believe such death is quite painful.”

Perilla, the priest, began to retch. The knight went to assist. The tenderness there—brother to brother—looked out of place.

Renata couldn’t help it then, she struggled up and tried to run away. But the pain in her head fell her before the knight could reach her. To her great surprise, Alaire was quick and first to her side. He had a small knife. He drew it to offer whatever protection he could muster.

Of course, it was useless, but he was braver than her. She had not done even that much to save Joceline.

Renata felt nothing but overwhelming shame. She gently pushed the boy’s arm down. “Put your weapon away, Alaire. Bless you, but do not sacrifice yourself for the likes of me.”

Alaire was crying, but she could tell he was relieved. She pushed him away, telling him to go find her mule. “He should be somewhere near the garden, it must be quite frightened too. Be careful, Alaire, there are evil elements still about this night. Stay close into the bushes.”

When she turned around, the knight knocked her down with a blow to the chest, and with a hand to her mouth, dragged her into the shadows. She struggled, but just then another knight came clumsily in. It was clear he had been drinking.

Renata saw that it was the man who attacked her sister. Not a man, an animal, the beast. She bit the hand over her mouth and swore in every vile oath she could think of. It wasn’t many, and it wasn’t much, for the man who held her flinched, but didn’t let go.

The drunken knight just took another long drink from a bottle in his hand and said, “What have you got there? More gutter trash? Take all for yourself, Bresilhac. Take her, go ahead, you will probably come back with the pox.”

The beastly knight roared in laughter, then burped loud and gross.

Renata was so angry she was speechless now. The priest looked like he was staring at vermin as he looked back and forth between them. 

Behind her, still holding her close, Sir Simon said, “Did you come to say a final word over your yeoman, Amauri, or did you think to have other business with the livestock.”

The other knight only grunted, took another draw from his bottle, then threw the empty vessel their way. It crashed against a post and shattered. He staggered over to the dead soldier then. Leaning over, he burped once again.

Then he ambled from the barn with no further regard to the priest, the dead soldier, or her, but singing a bawdy song as if he had no other care in the world.

By then, Sir Simon had loosened his grip and gently pushed her away. He said to the priest, “I think you have more tending to do here.”

She snapped, “I am well enough.”

Then she felt sorry for her tone, but the knight ignored her, saying, “She bit me. Perhaps you should have a look. You know how it is with witches. I do not wish to die as a mad dog or a demon.”

She glanced back at him, now ashamed, but saw that he was grinning. The priest made a wide circle around her to get to the knight, his brother. He said under his breath, “You should kill her, she is a heretic and probably a witch as you said.”

The knight said, “Why do you not do the deed then yourself? Take it, here is my knife. Think of it as God’s work, if you feel so strong.”

The priest seemed taken aback. “Murder is a heinous sin.”

“A Christian then. Turns out, so am I.” Then the knight turned to Renata. “If I turn the other cheek, will you promise not to bite it?”

Then he winced as the priest poured water on his hand.

“All is well, Simon, it did not break the skin. I thought such people did not show violence though. Perhaps they have as much respect for their own tenets as our own.”

“Why don’t you ask her, Perilla, it looks as if she can hear as well as speak.”

The priest looked at Renata warily, then he looked back to his brother. The knight said, “Say nothing of this, tend to the wounded as you promised, Perilla. I’ll see to the horses. . . and everything else.”

They went about their business, leaving Renata to hers. But she did not know what to do. If she left, the others like Amauri would find her, kill her, with worse done to her before she died.

But if she stayed. . .

What?

She searched for Alaire. He had returned by then, the mule was near and happily eating. The boy was hiding in the dark corner once more. Renata made her way over. “What happened to the girls? Did you see them?”

He did not know, he had not seen anyone. But it was dark, she knew, and by now they were either far away, or very quiet in their hiding.

Or dead. She suddenly felt very cold, even in the warm evening made even hotter by the burning nearby.

The boy said, “I am very hungry. Do you think Denyse will bring my supper soon?”

Denyse was his sister. She was married to the weber’s oldest son and lived on the far side of the village: Down wind as the weber used urine in his craft to dye the wool, and no one liked to live next to that either. She was pregnant too with her first child.

Did she flee or would she try to make it through the invaders? Would the soldiers have mercy on someone like her? What a choice: flee to save your unborn child or try to come back to save your child-like brother?

What would I do in her place? God already knew that she had done nothing while Joceline was killed, and for that, Renata felt deeply ashamed.

And only God knew what had happened to the rest of the people in the village, and didn’t she wonder about her mother and grandmother too? But from what she had seen so far, Renata had very little hope left.

No, that was not true. Her mother knew what was coming. The only trouble would be getting her grandmother away. They would go first to the churchyard to visit Renata’s stepfather’s grave. It wasn’t sentimental: They kept coin buried there under the remembrance stone as there had been thieves about in the wake of the Crusaders these days. Stealing from heretics was not necessarily a sin, but stealing from the dead, well, that was something else.

Maybe in that detour, the women would be saved as it was well out of the way of the invaders. But then where would they go? Back to her father’s village? They could not go up through the mountain path, her grandmother was not strong enough to make that.

Her mother hated the river now, but there were boats therem and the woman knew how to row better than most. It was something she also learned very well after her son died.

Renata whispered, “I have to believe.”

But the boy now started moaning. Renata still had her own pouch from the day’s gathering. It had little food, but some bread and there was also some carrots from the garden she was saving for the mule. There was another bag of food near the path along the cliffs, but perhaps Cebille had taken that too. She wasn’t about to ask the boy to go find that now that it was dark.

She offered what she had. The boy took them gratefully. He said through a mouthful of food, “What will you do?”

Renata spoke without thinking, “I must find them, I—“

The knight was nearby. Without armor he moved very quietly, it seems. He said, “Find who?”

* * * * *

PART III - The Quest

On the edge of the village of Beaux,

near the River Aude, Langue d’Oc region,

Southern France, Late Summer, 1243

When she did not answer, only motioned for Alaire to be silent, he asked again, a bit more insistantly, “Find who?”

Even so, there was no anger there. Renata had the grace to thank the knight. Perhaps he had saved her life. Maybe more than once. Then she gently touched her forehead and thought about acting faint and weak. It had worked with her grandmother some times when the woman was trying to ignore the priest without too much fuss.

That was before they came here though. In this village, the people did not care so much about devotions, confessions or tithing, and there was no need for such deception. Besides, Renata had never been good at that sort of thing, she wasn’t sure how to proceed.

He took a step closer and said more quietly so that his brother might not hear, “Find who?”

Renata glanced around. Outside, there were shouts and more cries of pain. Then someone started screaming again. She flinched. It was a horrible, sickening sound that reached into her gut and wiggled around like she had swallowed a giant snake.

Another live one into the pyre, it seems.

She decided the safest place right now was with the knight. She told him the truth. “My charges, little girls.”

“From the village?” said the priest, who had come up as silently as his brother.

“How many, how old?” the knight demanded.

“A handful, and my helper, who is also my friend, and her own little girl as well. The girls are of ages almost seven to nine or ten. They help me in the herbal gardens and are learning to prepare the plants for useful—”

“Witches,“ the priest said bitterly, then spat as if the very thought of the word was poison.

“Not babes, but innocent children all the same,” Simon said, then to Renata, “I assume?”

“We tend the gardens, as I said. I see you have fresh herbs from there yourself,” she said to the priest.

Even in the lamplight, she could see that he blushed.

“You must forgive the good Father, he confuses man’s words sometimes with those of God’s.”

“That’s blasphemy,” the priest cried.

“Join me in Hell then, because we are going after the little girls.”

The priest cried, “You are mad, I will not allow it!”

Renata said, “I will not lead you there for their destruction.”

She couldn’t help it, the scene was too horrible as it flashed through her mind. The little girls being tossed into a bonfire, some wiggling at the end of a lance. Little Abella running away in flames. Renata gasped.

The knight looked at her a moment, but his face was neither triumphant, nor scornful. He said to the priest, “Perilla, I have a feeling about this. This was meant to be, I must help those in need, I swore an oath to aid the helpless. What could be more helpless than a group of little girls?”

“Demoness,” the priest said to Renata. “Witch’s spawn spreading—”

She said to the knight, “We can look to ourselves, I only need—“

”It is already decided. We leave at first light,” Sir Simon said. “Perilla, come or stay, as you wish.” Then to Alaire, “Have my horse and the mule ready at dawn.”

The stable boy nodded. Perilla was down on his knees praying by then.

Renata said very lowly, “If you mean to help us, then I thank you. If not, then I hope you will burn in Hell, and I pray I have the strength to see you there myself.”

The knight chuckled, “Oddly enough, I have heard that before.”

It was true enough, but just now, he couldn’t quite remember where.

* * *

In the morning, they were off at first light, as promised. Most of the invading forces had camped on the other side of what was left of the village. There were a few guards posted around, but most were slumped over, sleeping. The funeral pyre was still smoldering and made a pall of stinking smoke hanging heavy amongst the trees.

Walking behind Sir Simon on his mount, Renata lead the mule, which was now packed with supplies that Alaire and Simon had helped her pick up from what was left of the buildings and houses near the stables. She was glad to head uphill on the path towards the cliffs and clear air.

At the garden, to her surprise, the knight said, “Wait here for bit, gather your healing supplies if you need them.”

She didn’t know if it was kindness or if he was waiting for the priest, which she now realized, was the knight’s brother. Renata made use of the time, gathering the herbs and preparing them as best she could for a journey. She saw a few remnants of the little girls’ curiosity of the morning before and felt a pang of. . .

Dread? Sorrow? Agony?

All of those, she decided. But she also knew she had little choice in the matter. Making her way alone was foolish, and if the knight had foul intentions, surely he would have done something horrible by now. Instead, he had saved her, in a fashion, and more than once.

His brother, the priest, was another question.

But all that had happened yesterday seemed like a life time ago. It was certainly Joceline’s, and how many others? She wondered again about her mother and grandmother, and kicked herself for not asking Alaire if he knew anything. But she would not have sent him to seek out the answer, there was danger still, everywhere.

It was mid-morning by the time the priest showed his face. If he seemed surprised that his brother had waited, it did not show. Perhaps they had always done it this way, Renata supposed.

“Plenty to attend in the village?” the knight said.

“Why did you wait? I could have caught up.”

“My brother, the tracker,” the knight said and laughed. He added, “The ground is hard here, I didn’t want you to end up lost on the cliffs as vulture bait. Perhaps since we are to be traveling companions, we should make introductions?”

“I have no interest in making myself familiar to a witch,” the priest said.

“Then let me make myself familiar to you instead,” Renata said. “My mother is a God-loving woman who taught me how to use plants for practical things, including dying cloth, making scents and preservatives, and also in healing. My father, a simple man-at-arms, traveled in service to a lord who felt the need of a holy pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

“My father was knighted for his service in defending his lord when others who had sworn to protect him had long since fled. You may judge me as you see fit, Father, but I am my father’s daughter and my mother’s too. I strive to live a clean life and leave the matter of judgment to God.”

The priest’s mouth was shut tight, and he wasn’t looking her way. But his ears were red in what she could only assume was awkward embarrassment. Else he would have said something spiteful and condemning, she was sure. No doubt to do with her impending horrible end.

“Fair enough,” said the knight, breaking in at their prolonged silence. “I am Sir Simon de Bresilhac, I come on a quest of my own of sorts, which sounds much like your father’s calling as well. I would share it, my own quest, I mean, but I find it difficult to put into words.”

“My brother has his discussions with God and his favorite Saints. All others may take his word for what they might say,” the priest said, but he smiled anyway.

The knight added, “This is Father John-Perilla, though I call him my younger brother.”

She nodded to the priest, glancing to his own pouch where he had been placing a good bit of herbs, same as her. He blushed all over then and continued in his work.

“We cannot linger much longer, Perilla, I believe the woman already has plenty.”

Renata nodded, but added, “I do not see anyone coming.”

“You can see from there?” Sir Simon said.

“There is a clearing in the tree branches, if you stand just here.” Then she pointed down toward the village.

The knight got off his horse and stepped over. She stepped back at his nearness. He said, “So you can.” Though he had to bend a little bit, as he was quite a bit taller than her.

She said lowly, “I do not lie, especially about things like that.”

“You mean things so trivial?”

“Things so easily proven.” She spoke then a few Latin words: “Emitte lucem et veritatem.”

Send out light and truth.

Perilla crossed himself, leaves and stems still in hand, she noted. At least for some things, he was a practical man.

She added quickly, “Those are my father’s words. He bore them on his shield.”

Sir Simon said, “What was his name, you are not from here. Your manner of speech is different.”

“His forefathers were from the far north, but my grandmother’s people were Spanish, though our branch of the family left there generations ago. As I said, he was a soldier of the Cross, a good and loyal man. That’s all you need know, I would not have you curse his name.”

“Not very trusting,” Sir Simon said, “given I saved your life.”

She replied, “Twice. But if not for you, I would already be far away.”

“Did you hope to strike me dead?” he said, recalling her enthusiastic, but futile use of the rocks.

She said, “I was trying to distract you. A diversion, I hoped, but I did not presume it would end this particular way. In fact, this situation did not come to mind at all.”

Simon had the grace to wipe his mouth, in effect, disguising his grin. He said, “Fair enough, my lady, lead the way to your charges, if you please. We are not familiar with the routes around here. I hear the mountain paths can be treacherous both in terrain and thieves.”

She glanced to the priest.

“Never mind him,” Simon said. “He will come around in the end. He always does. He has as much of my father in him as my mother. It is my father’s part that is so stubborn and my mother’s which is selfish. He knows I will take care of him, whichever way he goes most.”

The priest erupted, “How dare you speak of our parents that way, especially in front of a stranger.”

Simon shook his head. “This is going to be a long quest, I can tell, and here it is only morning still of the first day.”

“You are both damned anyway to my way of thinking,” Perilla said as he gathered the last of the leaves. Still he reached out with a handful of berries to share with his brother.

Simon took them happily, and with a mouthful, said, “Then we will both go to Hell, and you will see us away. That ought to make you happy.”

Of course, Renata did not believe any of that. She was not quite one of the Believers like many others around here, but she did believe, as they did, that this earthly place was corrupt, and perhaps the real Hell itself. How else could such horrors be committed here as happened in the village just yesterday?

She was striving hard to go to another place after this life, a better place, maybe Heaven. But she wasn’t ready to go there yet, no matter how pleasant it might be. Besides, she had to see to the little girls first, and her family, and also to Cebille. No place could be Heaven if she was still worried over their welfare.

Just to be annoying, she said, “This is Hell, I am told, earth was created by the Devil’s hand to be perverse and so all things earthly are corrupt. We will all come round here again and again as punishment until we get it right.”

“Blasphemy!” said the priest.

“Get what right?” said Simon.

“Living. We must lead a pure life.”

“Cathari!” Perilla exclaimed. “Even worse. Do not listen to her ravings, Simon, please.” The priest then turned on Renata. “They said you would try to sway us with your thinking, that you are like the Serpent in the Garden, and that is why we must turn away.”

But he didn’t turn away, just followed along behind his brother with Renata and the mule in tow. But the progress was slow, because the knight was looking around carefully all the way.

Finally, the priest called up, “What are you looking for?”

“Survivors. . . and followers.”

In a way, she hoped there would be none left from the village. That anyone who had come this way had gotten clean away. It meant that those who left earlier—Cebille and the little girls—had made it to safety as well.

But she also looked back often to see if they were followed.

They traveled for most of the day, only stopping for a short time to let the animals drink at a stream. There they shared some apples she had packed on the mule the day before. The apples had been meant for their lunch with the little girls.

She offered the priest one as well. He refused, and then she remembered the apple in the Garden of Eden and laughed. The knight tossed over mutton and bread to his brother instead. Simon offered some to Renata as well. She took the bread, but the meat was greasy and rancid to her sense of smell, and she refused, but thanked him anyway.

Her grandmother, now that woman had a way with lamb, Renata thought. With mint and rosemary crushed into a sweet and savory syrup, and salsify mashed with garlic and butter, and tiny little carrots no bigger than her fingers. . .

Salsify is an edible, fleshy white root that was found around the Mediterranean since ancient times. Because when cooked it might taste mildly like an oyster, the plant is sometimes called vegetable oyster. 

Her stomach growled, still Renata found herself getting sleeping, even as they continued to walk. She tried to hum, but that did not sit well with the priest. She thought it best to be quiet instead of provoke another argument.

By evening, they were very high in the mountains. The view was panoramic—spectacular, in fact. The sunset would be brilliant, especially with the smoke in the air from the fires everywhere.

From there, she could see the continuing smolder of other pyres in nearby villages in the valley. Some nearer and larger, some farther and not giving off much smoke anymore: They were witnesses to the Crusaders’ gruesome and determined progress.

The invaders had been very busy in the last few days—these knights from the north and Inquisitors from the Dominican order. She wondered about her traveling companion, but she was not brave enough to ask: “Which of those pyres did you ignite?”

The knight and his brother prepared camp. They had more bread and mutton between them, and she offered them groats as well. The knight accepted, but gave the handfuls to the horse and the mule.

The priest heated hot water in a shallow pan that Simon carried in his saddle bag, then made a tea from some of the leaves he’d picked earlier in the garden. Renata put some groats in a small cup she carried in her bag, along with some rosemary, sage and pine nuts. Then she took their pan with the remaining tea-flavored water and went behind bushes to clean herself in what little privacy there was.

When she came back, she smelled of herbs herself, which was not all that unusual, and her groats were soft enough to eat. She used a wooden spoon she always carried as well, though sometimes it was used for digging.

The groats were still quite chewy and could use some salt and perhaps some onion or garlic. A nice fried egg or two would not go amiss, and some raspberries or strawberries would go well. . . She sighed.

After eating, she looked around. She was still hungry, and she wished she hadn’t given the rest of her apples to the animals. But they were near an orchard that had mostly died out and had been abandoned long ago. Some trees still bore fruit, even some that had mostly fallen down.

She wondered if this is what Cebille had been talking about the day before. Their little camp was nestled in a saddle of the mountains between steep rises of cliffs, but Renata could not discern any terracing, or any sign of what could have been a garden or crops or even an old house or hermit’s shelter.

It was getting a bit dark, but she found a few rocks of the right size on the ground. She took aim and knocked down some apples as the last of the daylight was fading. At least, her aim was better than when she attacked the knight, which in the end had served her purpose anyway, just not in the way she intended.

“God works in mysterious ways,” she muttered.

She got down quite a few apples, but many were worm eaten or deformed. Culls, they were called, and something usually given to the animals or used to make cider. She stood under the tree, studying: It didn’t look sturdy enough to climb. She leaned against it, then pushed very hard, trying to shake it. Apples rained down on her head, some quite painfully. She heard the men laugh, and also maybe the mule.

Saucy beast, she thought, but she laughed too, picturing the present scene in her mind. Cebille would have laughed most heartily too. Renata felt a pang in her heart, trying not to think of the little girls. Their laughter would have been a joyful noise, but just now any semblance of that sound in Renata’s mind was drowned out by the screams of those in the village.

She gathered the best of the fallen in her apron and offered some to the men. Simon took a few, but the priest refused again. The apples were small, more green than sweet anyway. Still, she was hungry, and she gave the cores to the mule, who had grown very fond of the things and was more demanding than accepting.

The beast nuzzled his nose further into her hand looking for more until his weight pushed her back. Behind, Simon caught her in the middle of an awkward step that might have seen her topple. He had taken off his armor, yet his body felt like she was resting against a tree.

She slipped aside, but managed, “Thank you.” 

They were silent then for the rest of the evening. She was tired and watched the fire. The priest was praying, and the knight was tending his sword. As she searched for a place to settle for the night—close to the fire, but not so near to the men to be indecent—Renata heard something on the wind.

There were caves in the cliffs, that’s what Cebille had said. Could that be the cause of that kind of dreadful howling-like echo? Just the wind then, reverberating in and out again through dreadful pipe bellows of nature’s cathedral?

Something didn’t sound quite right.

In fact, something sounded familiar.

Beside the fire was a pile of branches had been stacked nearby to stoke the blaze through the night. She selected a branch that had good bit of pitch and stuck one end into the fire.

In a moment, she pulled it out and glanced back to the knight. He seemed to understand, even though she had said not a word. Sword still in hand, he followed her silently. As she moved past his prone brother, she could see the priest still had open eyes.

In a moment, she could hear that he followed them too.

Renata crept up what looked to be a narrow trail in the daylight, but was a treacherous path with only the light of a torch. As she grew closer, she heard the sounds grow louder.

Crying, little shrieks, and hisses that called for silence.

And growling.

She hurried forward, but something caught her gown from behind. The knight took her torch in his other hand and stepped ahead into the cave. The little girls shrieked full out when they saw him.

The sound was deafening. The wolf that had been edging ever closer towards them now turned on the new intruders instead.

* * * * *

PART IV - Noel

Well beyond the cliffs above the village of Beaux,

Langue d’Oc region, Southern France,

Late Summer, 1243

Simon grabbed the torch and tossed it down between the wolf and the girls. Pushing Renata aside, he called, “Perilla, beware!”

His brother must have been used to such things, Renata heard him quickly climb higher outside the mouth of the cave.

Simon said, “Renata, get behind me, I’ll circle around and drive the beast outside. Perilla, are you free and clear?”

There was a scattering of rocks rolling down, as if someone was scrambling further up the hill, then some sort of mumble came in reply.

Simon began the plan of counterattack.

It didn’t take much, the wolf was away. In a moment, they heard cries of a wolf pack fill the air. Haunting, eery, Renata felt it in her stomach first, then tingling up her neck as well. It was almost spiritual in a primeval sort of way. She sighed, raggedly.

“Quickly, gather wood for more torches, we will take you back to the camp,” Simon said.

“I want to stay here,” said Abella, who was now studying a particularly beautiful bit of crystal embedded in the wall of the cave. She had not seen it before, they did not have light then. But with the torch still burning, the roof and the walls lit up quite beautifully.

“You may gather some stones from the ground here,” Renata ordered, “but this may be the wolf mother’s home. How would you like it if someone came in to pilfer your things? Not to mention the burden to carry them, of which I know you will complain.”

That part the little girls seemed to comprehend, especially as they glanced over to Celine who was still limping just a bit. To the knight’s great surprise, Renata looked at him then and smiled.

She said, “These are my students, and sometimes my patients, though they now seem sound enough.” She put a hand to Celine’s head, the little girl smiled up at Renata in great affection.

“Do not tell my brother that,” Simon said with a wink. “He will mistake you for a witch.”

She laughed full out then, mostly because his brother already did, and also because she was both relieved and very tired. It echoed in the cave, and the little girls hissed her to quiet.

Outside, Perilla already had some branches, and one overly large and roundish bush. He set it alight and rolled it down the trail. It seemed to clear the path in front of them, and Renata wondered if it truly was Divine intervention. A moment later, she hoped it would not serve as a signal fire to anyone else who might follow. Or light the mountainside afire.

Perilla smiled as his brother said, “A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi.”

It was Latin: A precipice in front, and wolves are behind us. Basically, they had been between a rock and a hard place. It was a common-enough sentiment, something her father might say.

In her relief at their renewed safety, Renata began to laugh. The men were looking at her strangely. Renata had forgotten: Women were not supposed to be educated. Thankfully, people around here didn’t believe in willful ignorance. Like Cebille and many others, she knew how to read and write in her native Occitane, northern French, and Spanish. She could do sums, and of course, read and speak Latin, the language of the Gospels, but also of science.

She said none of this, best not to provoke any further.

They traveled in silence back to the campsite. The little girls were exhausted and quickly settled down after eating a few apples. Cebille and Renata discussed their options. Perilla prayed, but occasionally glared at his brother, who seemed content to just watch over the women. Renata noticed that Perilla also glanced to Cebille more than once, and in more than curious interest.

In the morning, it was decided. Renata told Simon, “We are taking the girls back to Cebille’s dead husband’s family. He was Abella’s father, his family will care for them there until we can find out what happened to the others in our own village.

Simon didn’t have a better plan, and Perilla had no plan at all. He only shrugged and said, “Volente Deus.”

God willing, it will be whatever God wills. 

They set out and walked in silence for most of the morning, though occasionally the little girls let out a giggle here and there. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason at first. Then to the priest’s absolute horror, it seemed that most of the little girls seemed to be quite drawn to Perilla.

In adoration or curiosity, there was no telling. All were enthralled, excepting Abella and her mother, Cebille, who seemed to ignore him even more than was his due. But the other little girls continued to lag behind to be nearest to him.

And they kept asking him questions.

“Father, will you not say the Psalms as we go?”

“Father, dear Father, do you know the name of this plant?”

“Father, will you tell me about the north, for my mother once traveled there?”

Simon found this thoroughly amusing, which helped the situation not at all. But he suggested Cebille and Perilla take the lead—Cebille because she knew the way, Perilla because he was like a carrot to lead the little girls. They made better progress after that.

Occasionally their voices would rise in argument, and the little girls had to shush them to lower noise again. In fact, the little girls had come to enjoy the duty, but the conversation did not stop between them.

Pirella said angrily, “Outside the Church there can be no salvation.”

“Our thoughts are free, we have freewill to do and say what we please,” Cebille said calmly. “It is the choices we make that sets our path to Heaven or no. Not by your leave or any other man’s, no matter how fine the robe or how splendid the cathedral.”

“You cannot save yourself from damnation by—“

”Certainly not by force of arms. Even so, we all exist in corruption,” she said. “It is all around us, but our choices make us more or less pure, so we strive once more to achieve perfection.”

“The flesh is corrupt, I agree, but the spirit is lifted by confession and repentance—”

“So you agree there is no evil without something good in balance?”

Pirella muttered, “Mulier taceat in ecclesia.”

Let the woman be silent in church.

He didn’t think she understood, but she knew the sentiment well enough.

Cebille replied, rather sadly, “Vos vestros servate, meos mihi linquite mores.”

Cleave to your own ways and leave me to mine.

Pirella stopped and stared at her for a moment, then  crossed himself: first head and chest—the mind and heart, then shoulder to shoulder—the soul and strength, all dedicated to the service of God. Then he did it again, and they walked in silence for quite a while after that.

* * *

Cebille and Renata tried to distract from the difficulty of the long journey with lessons on the way. Sometimes Perilla would even help. He tried to give them scriptural teachings as well as his own knowledge of plants and their practical purposes, but the little girls giggled too much whenever he was speaking.

This all made for overlong days, which was going to be a very long trek anyway. But Simon understood that little girls were not soldiers—he often gave them turns on the horse, one or two at a time, particularly Abella, whom he grew to like very much. In turn, she seemed to prefer him to his brother, and often helped him rub at any rust that would form on his meager armor.

He explained that the mail and chest and shoulder plates were his grandfather’s before. The skull cap was his own, as his head seemed to be bigger than his fore bearers had been. At this, Abella laughed, as did Renata.

“Our mother’s grandfather had a small estate in Spain,” Simon said, “and from there, we have always gotten the very best horses.”

They were headed for Spain, in fact, when they got waylaid by Perilla’s master’s calling.

Abella said, “You mean God called you to come to our village?”

“No, it was a man of the Church named Fournier. He’s a Bishop and Perilla must do what he asks. I only call him Perilla because he’s my younger brother, but you should call him Father, if he asks.”

“He is not my Father, my Papa died when he fell into the river. My father was a farmer turned fisherman who had no business in the water.”

“Those are not your words, little one,” said Renata. She explained to Simon, “Her grandparent’s were not happy with her father’s choice to move away and seek a different life. But it is true that he was never at home on the water. Still, he preferred that to sheep.”

“Is that where you are going then, to her grandparent’s farm?”

“Yes, to those lands. Cebille has never gotten on with them though, she is doing it for Abella.”

“And these lands, exactly where. . .?” But it didn’t really matter, he could not picture it well in his mind. He wished they had a map of some kind. He knew a bit of this country, but everything useful had been left with Amauri back at the women’s village.

He hadn’t wanted to accumulate too many things of his own in his journey, which had begun over a year ago. Too much to carry was too much to hold him down when he needed to move quickly—like now. Besides, he might be called on to do something unpleasant. While he wasn’t pledged to the commander there, he would be compelled to oblige if asked—not only for Perilla’s sake, but for his mother and sister at home.

These days it was too easy to be excommunicated and your lands confiscated. Simon couldn’t let that happen. He hadn’t planned on going back to become the lord of the manor again, but if his sister married and produced an heir on her own, he would feel better about the whole thing if she had some place to keep her family.

His mother never understood why he would leave in the first place. Neither did his brother. It was only chance that had united them again. But Simon had a feeling about his quest, especially now. It felt much better in his heart than anything Amauri had commanded since Simon started traveling with those forces months ago.

Just then he wondered what became of the rest of them. The invaders, these woman had called them. Many were French, some Italian and German, some Spanish. Had it really been decades ago since the Pope had called Crusade against heretics in the region. The French King and his nobles saw potential in scavenging southern lands from lords fallen by the claim of those condoning heresy.

Just then he felt very foreign, even though they had not traveled so very far. Suddenly, unbidden, he felt homesick. He had never felt this way before, not since he’d traveled from the Normandy, a province far to the north.

He understood it though, clearly. It was the little girls and the women. They reminded him of his mother and sister, and growing up in beauty and joy. But these were troubled times, and he was not sure what would become of any of them—here, or at home. He whispered a prayer, not something he did very often.

Then the horse went lame.

The brothers decided to go down into a group of buildings in the valley. They had managed to skirt everyone since they began. Traveling in the hills above the main roads was a way of avoiding people in general. Nothing travels faster than gossip, and of course, they made an interesting troop.

The place looked to be only a few houses and a livery there at the cross of three roads and a stream that skirted the remains of a mill, now burnt.

The livery master gave them the bad news. “It will take several days to mend, but the horse will be fine in the end. Just vexation under the shoe there from a rock that worked its way in. Good thing you didn’t ride it hard. Take it off and let him stand for a bit. I will rub some ointment and then it will seep. After it’s healed, I’ll shoe the beast again.”

“Thank you. Is there a place to stay? Perhaps a pub or an inn?”

The livery chuckled. “Not likely, friend. Tell you what, you and the good Father can stay here if you like. There is plenty of room in the loft, and this time of year, it stays very nice. We are not troubled by rats, they go to the remains of the granary there.”

The man pointed to the remains of the mill, which had clearly been useful not so long ago.

Perilla said, “What happened?”

The man spat. “What do you think?”

Simon said, “And the miller, what of him?”

“All in the family were taken, God save them now. I know nothing more.”

Perilla persisted, “Someone must have renounced him.”

The man said, “Even so, what of his family? He had many children, what of them?”

Perilla didn’t have an answer to that.

But it meant that the Inquisitor had already been here. And worse, that someone had sent word that the miller had done something to earn the Church’s wrath. Or his wife. Women were fair game for just about any sin. Simon didn’t know whether to take the offer for shelter or not. He preferred to stay away from people who might renounce the women too.

But Perilla said, “There are others in our party. Women.”

The livery said, “How many then? And what sort?” He blushed then, saying such a thing to a priest and a knight.

Renata said from the stable doorway, “Just a sorry lot of useless women and harmless girls, Noel Maitre.”

The man turned in surprise and gave a huge grin. “I should have known it be you. Always one to find trouble, you was that one. How is your mother, your grandmother too?”

Renata blinked, fighting back tears. Cebille quickly said from close behind her, “That we do not know, good smith. Please, do you have a place for our rest and some water for our charges.”

The man rushed forward. “Renata, poor child, of course. I heard rumors, who knows if any are true. Poor child, my poor— Well, enough of that. How many, I have food, not fancy, but enough, it will do.”

The little girls filed in. For once they seemed very well mannered. Simon glanced to his brother. Perilla was looking at Cebille. Simon turned to hide his grin and ran right into Abella. She was rubbing the muzzle of his horse.

She murmured, “Poor Prince, poor hero. You will be all right, Mama will see to that.”

Prince? He hadn’t thought to name the animal. Still he had always wanted an animal like this, and it had been a joy to finally find one. Prince would do, why not? Better to ride a Prince than a Devil. Either one was appropriate, better the one than the other, given the way things were going these days.

Cebille said, “Be thankful, she named the mule Eugene.”

Simon and his brother both chuckled, only Perilla did it behind his hand.

“Noel was the horse master to my father and his lord on their journey to Jerusalem. Their fore bearers grew up together in Spain, Noel father and my mother’s father, I mean,” Renata explained, then to the man, “What do you here, Noel? Though I am so very glad to see you.”

The smith blushed, smiling at his old friend’s daughter. “I no longer have a patron and need the trade. There is more travel through here lately, though it is not as fine a place.”

“Your good wife?”

“Died these few years past, but I found another good woman who already had two sons. We have another together. I am a blessed man, praise God and furnace.”

Renata clapped her hands in pleasure. “That is wonderful news, though I mourn your beloved Viola.”

“Yes, a fine woman, my first. A sickness took her suddenly. I am truly as lucky in my second. But tell me, where are you headed.”

“To Cebille’s dead husband’s family, a village between here and the fortress at Montségur where we might seek protection.”

The man looked stricken. “Child, are you sure? There are terrible stories, the siege—”

“There is no fear of those of the true faith,” said the priest.

Noel looked at him skeptically. But he said, “Come, you must be tired, come settle in the house for the night.”

Renata said, “I must stay with my charges.”

“Of course, would you believe it, I forgot them. But not to worry, bring them too. I sent my family away to relations in Spain. That was after the mill was burned. There is too much uncertainty here in these wicked days.”

“Come girls,” Cebille said, then to the livery smith, “Is there a place we can get water and cloths to wash up?”

“Water a plenty, here and another well in back of the kitchen, do not know about soap and such, though I suppose you would know more about that sort of thing. Look around as much as you please.”

“Do not worry yourself, I am sure we will manage. Come Abella, leave the horse and come along.”

Renata stayed behind with the men. When the others were out of sight, she asked Noel if he had a map. “We need to travel on back routes and paths.”

He looked nervously to the men. “Those are the routes of thieves and dubious traders.”

Simon said, “I have sworn to protect them.”

“What about him?”

“He’s a man of God and my brother. Do not concern yourself about him.”

Renata put a hand to the older man’s arm. “Thank you so much for your help.”

He took her hand and kissed it. He said, “God bless you and your mother and her mother too. I cannot tell you how much I miss your martyred father. A finer man I have yet to see and I meet a great many people come through.”

Then he offered them wine. It was very strong. Renata put hers aside after only a sip. She smiled and glanced to the others.

Perilla said, “I will make sure the others are settled properly and have said their prayers.”

When he was gone, Noel told tales of her father until Perilla returned.

Noel said, “Perhaps the men best all sleep tonight in the barn.” He meant to keep an eye on the men as well, she knew.

She nodded and said her good night. On the way to the house, she heard them discussing amongst them all who would be the one to take first watch.  

* * *

They had been there several days with no end in sight, and no complaints about it either. The little girls helped with the washing, and in repayment of hospitality, they cleaned the house and tended anything that needed mending as well. At night, the women would repair any damage the little girls had done to home, hearth, or what was so happily “fixed.”

The men helped in the stables and the harvest of the small field that served to grow cabbages, root vegetables, and various kinds of squash. There was also an old orchard with a few huge trees and a small vineyard of sorts—enough to justify the effort of an annual harvest and a several bottles of good wine.

In truth, Noel told them, he had as much trouble with wolves and rabbits as with vagrants passing through. It was a peaceful enough existence otherwise, and Renata wondered if they should just stay here instead of continuing until they got some kind of word as to what had happened to their families.

But one hot mid-day, they heard the dull roar of horse-fall and saw the cloud of dust rise before they saw the small troop coming slowly. The banners were Amauri’s colors, and Simon pleaded with his brother to hurry off and warn the women.

Pirella looked at his brother in question at first. Simon had to elaborate, “Hide the women from the soldiers, Perilla, you know what happens if they are in a ravaging mood. They do not ask, they take, and that includes more than wine and food. Hide the little girls too.”

Pirella’s eyes opened wide in alarm, then his face went as gray as the growing clouds in the sky: A storm was beginning to gather. He ran down the hill to the house, but the women and the girls were in the stables, too far away from the house to retreat without being seen.

Instead, he had the little girls hide in the hay. It was difficult as they were wiggling and giggling, not understanding the nature of the situation. When they were all covered, Cebille managed to get them quiet and remain hidden. She did so herself just a moment before the small troop made it to the well just near the door.

Pirella called, “My brother is in the fields, squire, would you like water for your horses?”

Pirella did recognize the man, but said no more than was called for.

In a moment, the squire, who had been looking all around with great scrutiny, responded, “Thank you, Father. For the men as well.”

Noel had appeared by then. It was clear that he had been sleeping. He limped a bit, remnants of an old wound that troubled him when he first awoke.

He said, half-joking, “Crusaders here to burn the heretics?”

The men-at-arms just laughed, but Pirella saw the fear in the old man’s eyes. Most soldiers got off their horses then, and helped themselves to water and began to look around too.

Noel said, “Is there some way I can further help you along, squire? I have a few fresh crops, but nothing cooked, just raw. Of course, you’re welcome to it.”

The squire looked at him a moment, then glanced into the barn. But he said, “As you say, we’ll be moving further along.”

“Looking for heretics, then, not provisions. I think you will find not many are here. Some were already taken.” He pointed to the burnt mill. “Others came through here on their way to seek refuge near the fortress mount at Montségur, and—“

The squire interrupted, ”Asylum of the Damned! What do you know of that?”

Pirella quickly stepped forward with a ladle of water in offering. “Is it true that the Inquisitor is there now?”

There had been rumors that the fortress had been under seige, or soon would be. But that was not from anyone who had actually been there.

The squire took the water and drank. He thanked the priest, but before he had a chance to speak of the Inquisitor, Simon called from under the elaborate, but aging, arbor that led to the vineyard, “Raimond, what brings you here? I hope you do not come looking for me, I assure you I am not worth the bother.”

The squire bowed his head before he climbed down. He tossed the reins to Noel and said, “Sir Simon, my Lord sends his compliments but does wonder on both your presence to begin with and now your absence.”

“If you recall, I pledged nothing to Amauri, nor to Fournier,” Simon said carefully, glancing around to what the other soldiers were about. “I answer to God on this, they understood that from the start. I paid my tithe in horses and silver, what more can be required?”

Pirella rushed over then and took the ladle from Raimond. He said to his brother, “The squire tells us that the Inquisitor is at Montségur.”

Raimond glanced back skeptically. In fact, he had never said that. It was clear that their reaction made him suspicious.

Pirella turned away, and Noel took the squire’s horse then to water. As he did so, Pirella nodded his head just a bit toward the barn.

Noel glanced back to the squire, and then from outside the squire’s view, acknowledged that he understood.

Simon hoped that Raimond had not seen the exchange too. He said for distraction, “What does he do there? I hear the mountain colors are pleasant this time of year, but I have never heard that Fournier stopped to admire the scenery.”

More than one soldier chuckled. They had come closer, unnoticed, and it gave Simon a hot rush up his spine. Could he reach for his sword before they could get to their own, and just how many were there. . .

Raimond glanced back to his men as well. Most were dangerously close to being bored, and on a good day they were borderline insubordinate. Some would fall asleep if he let them, others would go looking for trouble in the tiny excuse of a village. Either way, it would be hard to get order again. They had to finish this, and soon, and then be on their way.

Noel said, “Would you like food for your men for a mid-day meal? I have some fine apples this year and bread just baked this morning.”

“You do not look like one adept at the ovens,” said the squire. “I heard the baker fled to the hills.”

Simon glanced over to Pirella, who tipped his head toward the barn again. The little girls and the women were hiding in there, he already knew it, and knew that his brother was not good at this kind of deception.

Simon said quickly, “Noel, you must not hide things from these fine men on such a Divine mission.”

Noel looked at him in alarm.

Simon continued with a hand up to placate, “Come now, soon you will harvest the grapes and make a new batch of wine. I have seen the crop, it will be a good year. Surely you can spare a bottle or two for these men to taste for all their trouble and their time here.”

Noel spat on the ground, before he said bitterly, “Generous with another man’s treasure, what little I have left. But serve them yourself, if you must. You know where the cool house is, I will look after their horses instead. By your leave, squire?”

Raimond only nodded as he watched Simon head the other way toward a small structure, including a door, covering the entrance to a hollowed out hill. It was used as a root cellar, and for some of the warmer months, held huge blocks of ice as well. Simon knew there was no more ice this time of year, but the back recesses were still very cool.

Pirella looked quite relieved and said, “Please, squire, bring your men, I will serve you there in the shade at the front of the house. You can tell me how goes the Crusade.”

Raimond looked at Simon a moment, then agreed.

But the calm did not last long. Raimond allowed his men their repast, then asked the others to go into the house.

Noel led the way, followed by Raimond, a few of his men, and both Pirella and Simon. As he glanced back, Simon saw that some of the soldiers were heading for the root cellar as well. A good hiding place, if you were looking to be found. Still, better they take their time there along with the cabbages, turnips, and last season’s mealy apples.

Inside, the squire explained. “I am looking for you in a way, Sir Simon. Amauri has seen the gardens at the village, he knows there are witches—“

”How could he know any such thing,” Simon blurted, but then realized that, of course, Amauri tortured the boy, Alaire. Such a simple young man, he’d say anything just to make the pain stop, as most did, even the innocent. Simon wondered if they let the boy go after or killed him anyway. He suspected the worst and glanced to his brother.

Pirella had his head down in prayer.

Noel said in alarm, “Smoke, I smell—you bastards!”

He meant to run outside, but the soldiers, who had come in with Raimond, stopped him. They could not manage with Simon, who had already found his sword. He rushed outside, but there were too many men. Four grabbed him from all around. He struggled as best he could, but they held him hard and secure.

Together, they all watched the livery barn go up in flames. It burned so hot and fast, the men had to step back more than once. It was a difficult business, holding such a man, and eventually, Simon got away. He rushed forward again, winching at the heat, but by then, there was nothing to be done.

Perilla finally made it out as well when he realized what was happening. Frantic, he rushed to help. The men did not try to stop him, he was, after all, a priest. But he was one man against a bonfire now, because Simon had dropped down on his knees and was incapable of anything else.

Still Perilla threw the bucket down into the well and wound it back up, hoping to do something to help. All he managed was to cry out in frustration with all the strength that he had.

But the barn was beyond saving.

Perilla dropped to his knees as well, sobbing at the horror as he thought of the little girls burrowed into the hay, thinking they would be safe.

And of Cebille. What of her?

Already in hell, probably. He grabbed for what little comfort he had, his Crucifix and his brother.

Simon was silent and still. The men who had held him back at first began to back away. He rose and walked slowly to his brother and put a hand to Perilla’s shoulder.

Perilla turned away, and promptly lost everything he had just eaten.

Raimond said, “Too bad about your barn, the horses too. Such a loss. . .”

Simon glared at him for a moment, wondering if he could reach for his sword—just there on the ground—before the squire’s men could stop him. But Raimond looked very pale, he looked like he was about to retch as well.

He said lowly to Simon only, “I had to do it, you know it too. The rest of the village is left, and now I must report back. Consider yourself fortunate.”

Raimond had come looking for witches, and it was a blessing of sorts that the squire had little stomach for the Crusade according to Amauri’s rules. His liege lord would have burned the whole village, just for being on the path of fleeing witches. It wouldn’t have mattered if the women and girls had been given shelter or no, just being in the path of a witch was enough to be corrupted.

Poor Alaire, Simon thought. But then, why should the simple boy survive when so many others had perished?

Simon sighed. “What will you tell Amauri?” 

Raimond swallowed back bile. Simon knew, because he could smell the sour taste in the squire’s mouth even from his distance.

Raimond said, “I will tell him there are no witches here, no reason to lead the bulk of the troops this way.”

Simon sharply turned to stare into Raimond’s face, but the squire turned away. So in this there was a sort of blessing. At least the village nearby would be saved, but at what cost? The little girls and the women. . .

Cebille, Abella. . .

Simon whispered, “Renata.”

It was Noel who said, “Requiescat in pace.”

Rest in peace.

Then the man also fell to his knees.

* * * * *

PART V - Salvation

The small crossroads settlement of Cheval Maitre

in the mountains of the Langue d’Oc region,

Southern France, Early Autumn, 1243

The soldiers rode away without a word or even a look back.

Noel was sitting on the ground now, because he could stand no more. His face was contorted with grief so intense that no sound came out.

Perilla was on his knees still, head down, hands working his rosary. But his eyes were not shut in his normal prayers, but shifting around nervously. Simon could tell his brother was greatly disturbed, but he had nothing to offer. He felt a great deal of hate, it sucked up ever bit of sympathy he could have possibly offered.

He paced angrily instead, looking for some sort of comfort. Strike something? Battle the flame anyway? Ride after?

A nearby voice overhead called in doubt, “Are they all gone now?”

Noel looked up in wonder.

Not heaven-sent, it was coming from the trees in the nearby orchard. His face turned from the gray of deepest sorrow to the brightness of overwhelming joy. He ran to the small orchard, clapping as he stood at the bottom of each and stared up.

“There is a hole—was a hole in your barn floor, Noel. The little girls found it and crawled beneath to the backside of the barn. From there we got them out unseen. I think we will need some help to get down now,” Renata said from somewhere amongst the leaves.

She must have been moving, because some apples then rained down. Noel had to dodge out of the way, but he was laughing all the time he did so. For him, it became a kind of dance.

Simon rushed over, Perilla was right behind him. They ducked when a few apples more dropped on their shoulders and heads. They couldn’t help but laugh too as the little girls began to giggle from their perches everywhere.

Cebille was the first one down, Pirella was first by her side. She said to Noel, “Sorry about your barn. Did all of the horses get out?”

Noel said, “I have yet to make a count, but I suppose they will come back if they live, either to here or somewhere to find grass and water in peace. I saw a couple run toward the ravine, I will have some of the local farm boys round them up for a coin.”

Which reminded them all that they were still in danger of discovery. Sheltering refugees was not a crime, hiding witches was another story. Now they knew for sure, they had been denounced and were hunted. It would make their continued journey more troubling.

Normally folks would come from the surrounding area or nearby villages to see what the smoke was about: out of curiosity, or perhaps to lend a hand, or even to scavenge. But these were troubled times. Only the unlucky short-straw bearer appeared at the edge of the vineyard quite a distance way.

Noel went to the top of the hill, near the edge of the tree line, and they disappeared up and over into the small ravine to one side where flowed down the stream that had been used to run the mill.

Almost an hour later, the women and girls were all present and whole and on the ground, though some were a bit scratched up for the experience. More than one of the little girls yawned, but otherwise there were no complaints. Renata smiled at them all fondly.

She said to the men, “I think we best find them some place to rest.”

“How did you get them up?” Perilla asked.

“You know very little about little girls,” said Cebille.

“Apparently, though I do have an older sister.”

“I am thinking you learned just as little from her,” said Cebille, unkindly, which was now the normal tone she took with the man.

Perilla looked away with that stupid grin, pretending it didn’t matter that she would speak to him at all.

It was from too much affection too soon on both their parts, Renata was sure, and not to either one’s liking. But she knew for a fact that people couldn’t help the way they felt, it was something that just came upon you.

That’s why she believed in God, she supposed. It was an overwhelming force that you could fight against or even ignore, but it was like swimming against the tide. For awhile it worked, but eventually. . .

In the end, everyone went down, and the tide would go in and out, whether you acknowledged that power or not. It was like the winds and the storms, the seasons and the rivers. It was like the mountains and valleys. Immense, a great power beyond anything that man could offer. In the final tally, any man or any woman was insignificant.

Be they witch or Inquisitor.

The best anyone could do was appreciate what they had for the present. Take joy in the small things like the beauty of flowers, the laugh of a child, or the sweet ache of love newly blooming. It could be taken so quickly, ending in horror and fear. Hadn’t they just seen that not so long ago?

Renata just laughed and patted at the priest’s shoulder, saying, “Perhaps it was a miracle.”

Pirella crossed himself, head and heart, shoulder to shoulder while she lead the girls toward the house. One of the girls looked back—the roundest one who needed the most help to get down—and blew the priest a kiss.

Once settled, the girls were quiet except for gentle little snores no louder than a hive of bumblebees.

Renata thought back to that day in the garden when the girls screamed and ran away. Such a simpler time with trivial problems. Was it really so little time ago? Just a matter of days? She had lost count as to how many, but then, what did that matter anyway? As long as they had shelter. . .

No, there was something more she had forgotten about. “How selfish.” She hadn’t thought of her family since she got here, not really. Her father, of course, because of Noel. But not her mother or grandmother, nor of the little girls’ families either.

She sighed and returned to the common room where Simon was staring into the fire. She had noticed his bearing and general appearance before, it was true, but now there was something different. He didn’t seem to notice her, he was too deep in his thinking.

She watched him there from the door.

Regal was not the right term, nor was benevolent. He was a good man, she could see, but also that he had a tendency towards selfishness.

Why was he helping them? Was it true that he was on some sort of quest? She hadn’t known anyone like him before, except maybe her father. But only a man after his own heavenly rewards would leave his wife and daughter that way for years.

It was the same selfish behavior she could see now in Sir Simon de Bresilhac. But it was also true that she knew more of her father through stories than experience. And she had only know this man a matter of days.

In any case, he felt. . . familiar.

Maybe it was because of her father.

Maybe it was something different.

Just then Simon turned to look her way. Could he know what she was thinking? She felt her face grow hot, and she touched her forehead with the back of her hand. Not hot at all, just. . .

Renata went over and sat close, but not touching.

As she looked into the fire, she thought of her father again, and all of the stories her mother had told. She missed him. Always had, even when he was near. She had never felt important to the man in the grand scheme of things. Renata never blamed him, perhaps if she had been a son. . .

To her horror, she started crying.

Simon didn’t seem to know what to do, so patted at her back. She knew it was meant to be gently, but he was a man of war, his touch was strong, and her body bobbed back and forth with each pat.

This made her laugh, and he stopped.

Clearly he didn’t understand women, but then how could she explain when she couldn’t understand her own feelings either? She had no intention of prying, still she wanted to know, and the silence between them was distracting her mind to other things. . . like what he was thinking, were his thoughts of her at all? Why was he hear? And what would she do if he left them?

Finally, she said, “This quest, why. . .?”

He sighed.

She offered, “I am sorry, it would not be my affair except—“

”Except that whether I succeed or fail may mean your own life or death?”

She might not have put it that way, but laid out so clearly now, she knew it was true. And not just for her, but for the little girls too. Renata said, “I should thank you again.”

He turned on her then. His face held not humor nor patience. He said, “What Perilla said still holds. It is not something I can explain, it is something that feels familiar, and it is something that I must do again.”

“Again?” She tilted her head and wondered, thinking about the Believers and their notion of a soul returning to earth.

He just shrugged and poked at the fire. Then he said, “Why do you teach and heal? Where did you get the calling? Does your mother teach, does she heal?”

“Not so much as me. She knows plants and how to use them, but she usually sells the ointments and tinctures, sometimes makes scents, but there are not so many where we live who would—I suppose that doesn’t matter.”

But she knew what he meant. She continued, “But as to healing, she does not like touching people. My grandmother says it is a sure way to get fleas and worse. You can see I got nothing of the calling from her.”

He laughed at that. “Your father’s mother?”

“No, she is my mother’s mother, and if you ever have tasted vinegar, then you know my grandmother’s smile.”

“That is a strange way to describe a loved one. Do not bother to deny it then, you would not be taking the girls this way unless it served another purpose.”

Too close to her own thoughts. He knew her, how did he? She said, “You think I am endangering them from my own wish to find word of my family.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a challenge.

He said instantly, “No, but you do, else the notion would not occur to you.”

That also was true. She studied his face, but she saw no judgment there, or malice, only curiosity.

She said, “How is it you know me so well?” She hadn’t meant for that to come out, and Renata felt herself blush warmer than anything the fire could offer.

She tried to rise quickly, but stumbled in her skirt and fell against him instead.

At the door, Noel said, “Oh, your pardon—“

”No!” they both said, and then Renata felt anger well up for some reason.

She said, “And just why not? You could do worse, so could your brother.”

Simon looked at her strangely, but not as strange as she felt. She rushed from the room and almost tumbled Noel on the way. It did not help at all that Renata heard him chuckling as she rushed way.

Noel stood near Simon a moment before offering him mead. Simon accepted with, “Ah, a man after my own heart. I’m thinking your master must have treasured you.”

Noel smiled at that, “Aye, so he said. A fine man, Sir Guntram, Renata’s father, that is. But not a family man, I envied him that.”

“Strange notion,” Simon said thoughtfully. He hadn’t realized she was the daughter of a knight. But he’d seen enough of the world to know that nobility had not so much to do with birth as actions. Still, it was the bloodlines and titles that were given worth. Perhaps if she had mentioned that in the village. . .

No, such things were meaningless now. Even the nobility could be condemned by the Church. There was nothing to help these people now.

Except me, and these few enough. For now.

Noel said, “I suppose I mean that it’s easier from some to go on Crusade and such things. I didn’t mind until I met a good woman. Then leaving her side and my children—“

”You have children? How many? How old? Where are they now?”

Noel spoke of his family then for quite a long while. Long enough to refill their tankards one time and another.

Then Noel said, “Speaking of them, it makes me miss them again. I thought I had hardened my heart, but family cuts like no other.”

They sat silent then, drinking together.

Eventually, Noel said, “No other visitors have come to see about the barn fire. Everyone is scared. Henri did say there was a missive in the church for you.”

He was looking at Simon.

“No one knew to come here,” Simon said, puzzled. But that couldn’t be true, why else would Raimond have come here? That he didn’t know, nor why the squire had left so easily. Maybe it was a trap, but Simon suspected it was more to do with Raimond and his own doubts than Simon or his brother. He wondered then how the squire would explain it all to Amauri.

Perhaps not well enough. Maybe they were still in great danger.

Suddenly, Noel remembered: “Henri said the messenger told them that messengers were sent out to many places in hopes of one finding you eventually. He said the missive was left weeks ago.”

“Couldn’t have been anything to do with Amauri then, else Raimond would have said something.”

“Maybe it’s from Mother,” Perilla said from the doorway.

Noel had been searching his clothing. He finally found it in his sleeve and handed over the small bit of parchment. At least the seal had not been broken. The brothers exchanged glances.

Simon read it, then said to his brother, “Our sister sends word, our mother is gravely ill.”

“Weeks ago,” Pirella mused. “It could all be settled by now.”

Simon knew this was true. Their mother was either better or. . . dead. Either way, they could not go to her, not now.

Simon said, “Thank you, Noel.”

Pirella said, “God bless you for all that you’ve done.”

At this, Noel blushed. “Time I was off to bed. I have much to be thankful for this night.”

The man was gone, and Pirella took his seat. Simon handed him the missive. Pirella didn’t read it, but held it still.

The brothers sat in silence at first. Simon offered him mead, Pirella refused. It took a moment, but Simon knew it was coming, he could see that his brother was working up his nerve.

Pirella said, “What are we going to do?”

Simon felt a great sense of relief. He was afraid his brother was going to chastise him for getting them both into this. Or worse, make more accusations against the women.

But no: What are we going to do?

At least he wasn’t in this alone. It was both a comfort and a dread. Things were easier when he had no one to consider, but himself. But that’s why the quest was so important. For once, he had someone else to tend. It wasn’t coming easy, but then, what quest did?

The manor and his father’s lands didn’t count, nor did his mother and sister really need him. They could take care of themselves, and the estate had a number of good men— better men for such things, he considered—than himself.

But now he knew that Pirella relied on him, and that he also relied on his brother. He could never tell Pirella that, it would be too much burden.

Simon said, “The plan hasn’t changed, I think we both know the danger. The women do as well.”

Pirella nodded, then worked his rosary again.

Simon said, “You have never met anyone like her before.”

Pirella’s ears turned bright red, a sure sign of his deep embarrassment. Simon put a hand to his brother’s shoulder.

“I know about honor and vows, little brother, and also about dedication. Surely God will give you the answer, if you will only listen more to Him than to others. I urge you though, don’t close off your heart. God is forgiving, isn’t that what you yourself teach? Surely if you follow a pure path, no matter which way it leads—”

“A pure path? You sound like one of the heretics.”

Simon licked his lips. In fact, he hadn’t meant it at all like that, and he honestly didn’t know where the sentiment had come from. But now that the words were out there. . .

He said, “I mean, as long as you were true to your heart and true to all others, God could not find much fault with that.”

Pirella nodded, but said, “It’s not as simple as that.”

Simon knew it was true. Being corrupted by a woman, one who could be a witch and was certainly suspected of being a heretic. . . Well, no good could come of that for any man who might succumb to such weakness.

Not in Bishop Fournier’s eyes, anyway. The Inquisitor was not known to be forgiving. For him, such notions were only words to tell other people in order to justify his own actions.

It began with heretics, but did not end there. Concealers, hiders, receivers, defenders, favorers, the relapsed penitent: All had definition to the Inquisition—as well as appropriate punishments.

 Simon knew he must keep the women from the sight of the Inquisitor, or they would all pay the ultimate costs. None of them had very good options. Not his brother or the women, not even himself. That is why it was so important to stick together. All they had to rely on was one another.

He said, very carefully, “Do you really think God hears us?”

Pirella looked over in surprise. “Simon, that’s blasphemy to—“

”Only if it’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just wonder. . .”

Pirella waited, but Simon could see that his brother was tense. Simon added, “I just wonder why anyone would think that God hears one voice and ignores the other. I wonder who any particular man thinks he is, that he can say for certain what is God’s will.”

Pirella looked relieved, for he had been trained to answer questions like that. He said, “It is a matter of faith.”

It didn’t help at all when Simon said, “Faith in who, little brother, God or the Church?”

“There is no difference, Simon.”

But as Pirella said it, Simon could tell that his brother was beginning to wonder too.

* * * * *

PART VI - Mistral Witches

The small crossroads settlement of Cheval Maitre

in the mountains of the Langue d’Oc region,

Southern France, Autumn, 1243

The night before they left, Noel gave them directions and pointed out landmarks for their route. He had a hand-drawn map that was very old, it seems. He was not eager to part with it, and Renata did not ask. She recognized the hand of her father there amongst the older drawings and touched it tenderly. Noel must have treasured it as a remembrance of the man as well.

She said softly, “You used this when you first left together?”

Noel looked sheepish, but nodded. “Yes, that’s when we first found the map. We got it from an old friar who liked his wine. I suppose it gave us ideas. We were too young to think it through, though we had such grand expectations. I had no excuse to stay here then, but your father. . .”

She put a hand to his shoulder. Renata did not blame him. Nor had she ever really blamed her father for leaving. She had always put it down as something that men just did.

Noel continued, “He loved your mother, truly. You should know that. And he wondered of you often, though you were only a tiny girl the first time he was gone. But there was something he was searching for, and he hadn’t found it here. . . nor there.”

He was now pointing to the maps rolled out underneath, the ones the men had used on their quest to the Holy Land.

“So he went to Palestine?” Simon said, pushing the other map aside, staring at the routes mapped out to the Middle East. “On Crusade?”

“Looking for salvation,” Perilla said. “Did his priest send him away then?”

Meaning it must have been some kind of penitence, for himself or for his family. Erase your sins by standing where the Romans had set the Crucifix, or stepping along the path where the Son of God had walked in torment, or killing to reclaim the Holy Land from people who had lived there for generations but did not read from the same Holy Book as you did.

Of course, Perilla must have thought it was because the man’s daughter had been a witch, perhaps the man’s wife too. Even a baby witch must have been enough to send the father looking for salvation. Renata knew Pirella had no way of knowing that her father could also heal by the laying of his hands.

But it was God who had given her this gift, and to her father before. And who knew how far back in the family? She had never had the chance to ask him. In the end, Renata wondered if her father finally believed that this trait was a blessing, not a damnation. And that it did not matter what other people—men like Pirella—said.

Suddenly, she realized why her father had gone. It wasn’t what men said, it is what they did: not men like Pirella, the priest, but men like Fournier, the Inquisitor. They burned women like her—and men like her father.

He did it as a sort of disguise, a diversion to protect his family, for he could not know then that she had the gift herself. He felt damned and so a danger to his family—so he left them. What a terrible price, especially there on Crusade with so much suffering around him.  

Renata wondered at her own selfishness then, that she had never thought of it before in all the time she had been here. She very much wanted to ask Noel about her father’s last days, but not here with the others, not now.

But they would leave tomorrow, and then it would be too late. Maybe it was supposed to be like this, something she figured out for herself.

Still, had her father used the gift in the Holy Land?

In battle and after?

In the view of fanatics—men so fevered with their own devotion they will kill so many others?

How could he have left such suffering go on if he could do something to stop it?

Or is that how he died, taking too much of their pain? 

It must have been hard on her father, watching such damage all around him. Renata wondered then at her father’s turmoil: Stopping the suffering only to fall victim to the charge of witchcraft yourself.

It was true that she had always felt the healing was a gift, but she was practical about these things, and not a man of war. Renata had managed to keep the secret from most of the people in her life. Even her grandmother was no longer fully aware of why these things just seemed to happened whenever Renata was near.

It was a blessing, of sorts, for the old woman didn’t have much control over her rambling now. Her grandmother had forgotten in her old age mostly, and only spoke of the strange tongue that came upon Renata as some kind of prayer. Most people ignored the old woman, thinking she was just mumbling of angels with one foot already in the grave.

Renata whispered, “Angel speaking.” Then she glanced around nervously.

How long before she was called on to use it again? What would these men think of her then, especially Simon, their protector? Was he only that? No, she felt something more, though she hadn’t put a name to it yet. Her feelings were strange, compelling, hard to understand herself. 

Would he turn away in horror, denounce her like his brother had done? It mattered to her, she had to admit.

In the uneasy silence, Perilla was praying again.

This was not a topic that would set them out on their difficult journey at ease. A bad start, that’s what Renata’s mother would say. The woman knew well enough why her husband had left, and now so did Renata.

Cebille could see her friend stiffen. She said, “Come, Father, dear Father, it is time to hear the girls say their prayers.”

He seemed reluctant, but agreed, and missed when Renata shot Cebille a look of gratitude.

Simon didn’t miss it though, and when the others had gone, he asked, “What is it that you most fear?”

She wouldn’t put it like that, but now that he did so plainly, the words couldn’t come out at all. The notion of her mother and grandmother in danger was as painful as knowing their suffering was over.

No, that wasn’t true. She feared their suffering more than their death. Even so, she had to find out, for she worried more for their lives than she feared for her own.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned to Noel and said, “You know why he left.”

It wasn’t a question. Noel took a step back. He said, “Not at first, but I know now.”

She pressed, “Did you see it, did he have call to use it?”

“What are you speaking of now?” Simon said.

To their great surprise, Noel started crying. Not loud sobs, not in sorrow, but the tears flowed down his cheeks. He was smiling too. He murmured a prayer, common enough, then said to Renata as he kissed her hand, “It was a blessing, and a great danger that he saved me. None other did he, but it wore hard on him, that.”

“What are—?” But Simon stopped and turned toward Renata. He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He said very low, “Tell me.”

Noel said, “Her father had the touch of the angels. Some would call it bewitched, the taint of the Devil, but I felt it when I was gravely wounded, and—“

”Speak plainly, old man!”

They all flinched at his yell. But Noel stopped talking and stood there with a slight smile on his face. Renata knew then that he would not give her father’s secret away. It was up to her.

She said, “Healing, my father’s touch, a gift from God.” Then she turned to Noel. “My touch as well.“

The man gasped, then kissed her hands, both of them.

Simon was clearly frustrated, ”Herbs and things, so you said, same as my brother. I don’t understand—”

She put a hand to his chest. 

His hands dropped from her shoulders, but he did not step back. She could feel his heartbeat, he could feel the heat there under her hand, and a great sense of. . . joy.

To his great embarrassment, tears also came to his eyes. He said in a whisper now, “Say nothing of this to Pirella.”

She nodded. That she had already guessed.

Simon said, “So that’s why your father left? He thought it was evil and he was looking for salvation?”

She said, “Why did you leave your home and family?”

He seemed taken aback at first, but then realized she was playing the Devil’s advocate, of sorts. Simon said, “When did you understand it? Why he left, I meant?”

Noel said, “I think I’ll get to my prayers myself.” He gently rolled the maps again and took them with him, kissing Renata’s forehead before he left. He looked very much at peace.

Renata was looking into the candle flame, Simon was looking at her face. Lovely, he thought, and distracting. He wondered then if her mother looked the same, and if it had been as difficult for her father to leave her mother as it would be for himself to leave Renata.

It wasn’t really a revelation. He was intrigued by the lovely and spirited woman in the herbal gardens, but this was stronger than lust or flirtation. He had first felt it in the stables that night. He didn’t know why, maybe because she was so protective of the stable boy. She had so little to use in the way of arms or force, but her strength of spirit, that he found compelling.

She turned to him then, as if she had heard his thoughts. Simon found that he was holding his breath.

She only smiled slightly, and whispered, “We all have our burdens. I wish—”

“Yes,” he said, as he grabbed her shoulders again, and this time, pulled her closer.

* * *

The next morning, Noel gave a written message to Renata, one to be taken to his sister, Robinette Dumars.

“Robi lives in the village on your path toward to Montségur, though I hope she talks you out of that final journey. You may learn from her about Abella’s family, I hope, for their own lands are very near there.”

Renata said, “We would not impose—”

“No, no, she has plenty of room now, I am sure of it. Her children are grown. She had many, by the way, and it’s a blessing that most of them lived. Her husband was a man of some means, a merchant of some sort, trading and such. She told me once that he was very clever and what he did, but it made no impression for a man such as me. If it doesn’t have four legs and hoofs, I really have no interest. In any case, praise God for their many blessings, for they always had enough as well.”

“And her eldest son now tends to the business?” Perilla said, trying to be cordial.

Noel just shook his head. “Moved away, all of them. Some married near, but her sons all moved to cities with universities or cathedrals. Robi is quite proud of the fact. I have not spoken or written in quite a few months. I have no excuse, other than laziness. Robi sends word now and again when a grandchild arrives, or just to see if I am still breathing. We never speak of business or money or such. I don’t have a head for such things as she does.”

Perilla did not seem to understand that Robi—a woman—would be tending a business of any kind on her own. But not everyone had a son of the proper age to take over after his dead father, nor that one was really needed anyway. Women had managed to survive when men went to war and Crusade, or when they died of ills or accidents. It was true of men too: They did not starve to death or go around in rags just because a wife or a mother passed away.

Most of them, anyway.

But such earthly things had not been in his lessons. Charity and tithes were the priest’s way of life, though he had grown up in more comfort than luxury. Perilla looked to his brother for support, for he had meant no offense, but Simon was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Perilla found himself looking for the rest of the small, but determined company.

Abella appeared eventually from around the house corner with the now well-laden mule in tow. Simon was not far behind, leading the horse with some burden too, and a couple of the girls now riding high.

The horse had been more injured than they had first believed, but it was mending very well. Noel had replaced the horse’s shoe, but told them to be careful for a bit. The horse was spirited, it would know best when it was safe again for Simon to ride.

Pirella kept looking, but he did not see Cebille. He swallowed, clearly anxious, but refused to ask.

Renata glanced back to Simon, who smiled fondly at his brother. Coming from the far side of the house and behind Pirella himself, Cebille said, “Are we leaving or no? I am getting impatient, my feet have been walking long before we were meant to go.”

She had a few late summer flowers in her hand. Clearly she had been up the hillside, picking. She handed the blooms to the little girls, who promptly started fighting as who was to get which.

Nervous energy, the little girls had it too. Now that they had decided to set out, seeing what was around the next bend, over the next rise, past the ridge up ahead, was all they could think about. Hopefully too, the weather would hold.

Renata was glad they still saw this as an adventure, and she wondered just what she would do without Cebille. Simon lead the horse past her, saying, “Are you coming, or will you catch up?”

She let them all pass, and after a moment, she turned back to Noel. He smiled sheepishly as she said, “Thank you, old friend.”

He said quietly, “At first I felt I owed a debt to your father, and I still miss him too. Now, I can call you my friend as well. This I know, Renata, your father would be very proud of you.”

She felt her eyes sting with tears. He could not have said anything more dear. She murmured, “Any debt you felt you may have had is well paid by now and more so. I’m sure he would agree to that too. You have become quite dear to me as well, Noel, and I am glad my father had you to watch his back.”

She hugged him then. At first he felt awkward, then hugged her back. When she turned to go, he wiped at a tear. She did as well, but she didn’t have to say it, he knew it too: They would most likely never see each other again.

Not here, anyway—and not in this life, at least.

* * *

The journey to Hardouin, Robinette’s village, would take some time, they knew—especially since most would have to walk all the way. The horse added a bit respite for the girls, but they could not go fast as its hoof was still tender and it had to carry some supplies as well. The fact that they had made it so far before was a testament to the spirit and strength of the horse.

Still, they had to go, they had been putting Noel and the rest of his own village in too much danger for too long. No word of their village had come through. They had no wish to ask anything specific of the travelers coming and going through Noel’s crossroads because they didn’t want Amauri’s troops coming back again.

It took only a few hours of the third day before the complaining began, not from the walkers, but from one of the riders:

“Abella, you’re crowding me. Scoot back.”

“I’m not, you’re wiggling too much, Justine, and besides, you’re too fat anyway. You have to sway with the horse, else you’ll fall off. Not that I care, you deserve it.”

Cebille said sternly, “Abella, horrid child! Come down from there now.”

Abella did not argue, she seldom did when her mother took that tone. Simon helped the little girl down and noticed that she didn’t look him in the eye. She was embarrassed at her own words and behavior, it seems. He was beginning to like her very much indeed.

He said, “Anyone else like to ride?”

He had a few takers. He pulled the other girl from the horse to her disappointment, and put up three others instead. For the horse, the weight wasn’t much different. Abella took the lead from him, but the horse followed her anyway. He smiled and turned to Renata. She was smiling at the girls as well.

Before the end of the day, the riders had switched a few more times. But there was not much conversation, and the weather was no longer pleasant. It made the journey already seem tedious and long. 

Noel’s house had been very comfortable, and they had all been reluctant to leave it for that reason. Some were missing that comfort now.

Save Perilla, who did not enjoy sleeping in the stables at all. Not that his priest’s billet was ever a matter of luxury, but the smells were most offensive to a man who had grown used to his own herbal mixtures in a set-aside workshop or incense and candle wax from the Church services.

Still, he said very little, only glancing to find Cebille or Abella once in awhile. Simon was leading the horse or walking beside most of the time, in case anyone might fall. And since Renata led the way with the mule, there was no talk between them either.  

Towards evening, Renata stopped and raised a hand for their little party to halt. But she left her hand in the air, paused. The girls seemed to know more what to do than the men. They halted immediately and stood still, like fawns in the forest.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let it out with a sigh and glanced back to her friend. Cebille nodded her agreement. Then Renata let her hand drop, and the little girls moved again.

Simon said, “What is it?”

Cebille said, “The Mistral is coming, we need shelter.”

Perilla said, “Mistral? But it’s clearing now and looks to be fair tomorrow as well.”

“Mistral, I’ve heard of that. It means masterly, strong cold winds,” Simon said. “They come from the north and head all the way down to the sea. But how can you tell they are coming when you can’t feel them yet?”

“Not sure, but they are coming tonight,” Renata said. She held the reins out for Cebille, who took them while Renata scampered up the side of the path to an outcropping of rocks jutting out quite a bit farther up.

She stood there on top against the growing breeze up there—her hair blowing back, and her dress pressed firmly against her body. It made her look like something you would see carved on the bow of a Northman’s pagan ship.

Perilla murmured, “Sea harpy.”

Simon said, “What is that?”

Perilla put his lips tight together and said nothing more.

Cebille said absently, “Our village was near enough, it’s true, but Renata doesn’t like the sea, it makes her retch too much.”

Perilla rolled his eyes.

Cebille started to snicker. Discretely, of course, else the little girls would want to know the joke. After that, the teasing would be incessant, and Cebille had a soft-enough heart not to subject Pirella to that. . . anymore.

But Simon had heard of the Mistral winds before. Some of Amauri’s men spoke of them sometimes, but until now, he hadn’t believed them. Mostly because those men were superstitious and ignorant and only spoke of the legends when their liege lord was not within hearing, and the men themselves had been drinking.

But he thought the winds came in winter and spring, and this was nearly autumn. Quickly turning it was true, but then, many things were not as they should be these days.

“Especially around here,” he whispered.

For the first time in months, he felt homesick for Normandy again. Then something strange came to mind, something he hadn’t remembered since he was a boy:

Long ships of rowing men in strange sort of helmet-like leather hats and furs draped around their shoulders. The bowsprit of the ship was carved and curved up into some kind of snarling beast—a sea serpent, perhaps a griffin or dragon.

Sea harpy, indeed, he thought, looking to his brother, and wondered if Perilla had thought of the same thing.

Perhaps it had been something they were told or played at as boys. They were Normans, after all, and their ancestors had been Northmen first given lands—Normandy—by the French king as tribute and bribe for their ancestors to stop a-viking. That is, to stop raiding the coasts and the cities upstream of the great rivers, including Paris.

I should know more about the cold north winds myself, he thought.

When Renata came back down, he was still asking, “Are you sure? For how long?”

“Sure as I can be. Looks like there might be some caves further along the path, though if I can see them, someone else might have seen them too.”

Meaning others seeking shelter, or worse: Crusaders looking for survivors in search of a hiding place. If they went there, it also meant they could not have a fire, could not cook any food. Fire would be a signal light.

Cebille said, “We’ll have to chance it, we can’t be caught in the winds.”

Renata agreed, and the men offered no opinion.

They set out, but soon the little girls riding began taunting the ones on the ground. When those walking started searching for appropriate rocks, Simon pulled the three off the horse and told them all to walk for awhile.

Thankfully, there would be still a few hours of daylight left, and the trek would go easier that way for both horse and tempers.

But it seems the battle was still looming.

“Drop your weapons,” he ordered.

The little girls did so, without hesitation. Some had rocks, some only cones, and also there was a good poking stick. He wondered how long since they’d had a strong male figure to attend to their sense of—what?

He had to admit, he had no idea how a girl was supposed to be brought up. True, he had been there when his sister was growing, but never paid attention that much to that.

They had no lessons together, though meals in the nursery or classroom when they were young. When he got older, he was sometimes with his father, but more likely with the masters of arms or horse learning about war. Or with his father’s steward learning about the overseeing of their tenants and lands, which he did not enjoy so much.

At his mother’s insistence, Simon still did his lessons at night then, when his little brother and sister were already sent to bed. She would not have an ignorant son, no matter how much he took to more worldly pursuits.

He had not argued much. He loved to read books still, and even more so to make maps, though he hadn’t done much of either lately.

But such was not true for Perilla. His little brother followed for a time when they were boys, but as Simon got old enough to start learning riding and weapons and fighting and the tactics of war, Perilla turned more to prayers and books.

So did their sister, at first. Marie seemed to prefer reading and writing verse more than learning all that needs to be done to keep a manor house. But as she got older, she followed the steward around the estate as well, learning as much of their lands and their tenants as she could.

If he ever had children, Simon figured, especially girls, he’d have to give it more thought. But a deep sense of sadness passed over him then. Perhaps these girls would be the closest he ever got.

Cebille reached to stroke her daughter’s hair and said, “They are getting rather tired.”

Renata said, “When we get there, perhaps we could shelter with fire while it’s still light. If we find dry enough wood, the smoke won’t give us away, at least.”

Then she offered challenge to the girls to find dry branches and cones on the way there. It kept them occupied instead of remembering past danger.

Campfire at night on a hillside would give them away. Campfire in a cave was a trap. Just like with the wolf, there would be nowhere to go. But with little smoke and in the light of day, perhaps they could cook and make some warm water for washing as well.

She added, “In the morning, we can get our bearings again, I hope.” It came out more doubtful than she meant.

But they would be subjected to the winds for at least a night and possibly another day. But if the winds went on long enough tomorrow, they would have to stay another night in proven shelter of the cave, just in case the winds came again and caught them in the open.

Even the animals would have trouble traveling on the narrow mountain track with a strong enough wind. With their burdens, they might stumble and fall down the mountainside, which was quite steep here and treacherous sometimes.

“How can you be sure?” Perilla demanded, holding his rosary again as if defending himself from her demon-advised answer.

Renata fought back a sigh, because for awhile it seemed they had gotten past that suspicion, at least. But here it was again. She said, “I can’t be sure, and there’s nothing wicked about it. I just—my grandmother used to feel things in her bones. That’s what she would say. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

Perilla said, “But your grandmother was old.”

Was old. Meaning dead now?

Renata said stubbornly, “Perhaps you could discuss it with her sometime. I’m just telling you what I feel. If you think it’s the Devil’s intent to keep us safe from strong, cold winds here in the mountains, then God damn me and be done with it. At least the little girls will be warmer and in a bit more comfort than danger. I swear, sometimes you complain more than all of the girls combined.”

The little girls all hissed in horror—Renata had said a bad thing. But it was Cebille who was the first to start the silliness: She began to snicker, then laughed full out. Simon took up as well, but had enough respect for his brother to turn his back.

Pirella rolled his eyes, but he turned away with a mouth that was well shut and lips that were pressed so tight they formed a straight white line. The little girls weren’t sure what to do, but most still followed him around when they could, so when he now paced up and down a few steps on the path, they did the same thing in their little bit of path too, often running into one another.

Perilla noticed this commotion and even he had to laugh.

Simon couldn’t hide his own amusement any longer, but he put a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “I think the women are tired as well, little brother. Come, let’s head for the cave and find what God wills from there.”

Perilla was hard pressed to disagree, especially when Cebille pressed the reins of the mule into his hands and took off with Abella in tow, who was leading all the others behind her, hand in hand.

They made a charming daisy chain of sorts, Simon thought, and even his brother’s heart wasn’t so cold as not to appreciate that.

Simon followed behind with the horse who picked its way carefully. It was flatter here, the way a little wider, but it was also one of those places of more rock than path. At least it would be harder to track.

The little girls then fanned out just a bit, picking up sticks and cones for the cave fire to come. They had gone quite a ways before he looked around to find Renata.

She was nowhere to be seen.

* * * * *

PART VII - Robi and Halette

Near the village of Hardouin,

in the mountains of the Langue d’Oc region,

Southern France, Autumn, 1243

Simon stepped back, looking down to see if Renata had fallen. He didn’t want to alarm the others, so he walked back along on the trail without alarming them. The farther he got the more worried he became.

Why didn’t she call out?

Then he remembered the first time, when she was throwing rocks and had fallen. What if she had been hurt again? He needed to find her, and he needed Perilla, just in case. . .

He thought about running up ahead to get the others, but that might take too much time. Then he heard other voices, none that were familiar. He crouched down and reached for his sword.

* * *

In truth, Renata was well out of sight, but much higher than the others. She had climbed up to see if there were any landmarks she could remember from Noel’s map. That’s when she saw the other travelers far below. She studied them for awhile, but they seemed to be uncertain in their meandering, picking at the ground here and there.

Foraging perhaps?

But then she heard voices, and none of them seemed overly friendly. Then came the shouts, not of alarm, but more like commands.

Far down below were now soldiers as well—they seemed to come out of nowhere. They were unlike any she’d ever seen before.

The commands came again, the words were familiar, but in a different language than she was used to. Renata caught part of one reply, “Venatio!”

Latin, but with such a strange distortion she could barely discern what was meant: The hunt, perhaps the chase. . .?

They seemed intent on their business, whatever it might be, though now they seemed to be arguing.

Their swords were shorter than a Crusader’s blade, their shields were strangely shaped, and they wore clothes like none she had ever seen before. The capes were uniform, and their light armor too, though much of it did not look well-fitted. She could tell even from her distance, the bits of armor looked as if the soldiers had outgrown it.

Then she realized the troop was advancing toward her. She crouched a little bit more, pushing back into the scrub brush that surrounded much of the big rock she had been standing on only moments before.

Their banner waved in the slight cooling breeze, the first hint of the coming maelstrom, perhaps. As the fabric blew full out, she could see the inscription: Legio X Equestris.

Legion Ten, Mounted.

Renata felt herself fall back as a wave of heat overcame her. In the weakness, she became entangled in the brush and fought her way to get free.

Too much movement, they would see her.

She froze, just like she had taught the girls.

One of the men then rose up in his strange sort of saddle and used his sword to point. As the troops turned toward her and rode a bit closer, she got the impression the men were. . . older than regular soldiers. Then she heard some of them laughing. 

Was this some queer kind of game then?

But now they had found their quarry, and she realized it was not to her. The travelers below had seemed to be hiding as well, but no more. They had been spotted by the soldiers, and were now rushing, scattering on mountain paths that weren’t really there, as if they were some kind of wildlife very used to this land.

She closed her eyes, said a prayer and hoped the soldiers could not see her after all.

When she opened her eyes, to her great horror, she saw Simon making his way back on the path. From his vantage point there, he could not see the troops, she figured. And with the wind direction, probably couldn’t hear them either.

She hoped he wouldn’t call for her, for she didn’t want anyone else to see him there. And what of the others? She could not—

Another wave of heat washed over her, not of dread or fear, or even fever—

She had been here before.

How could this be? No, not in this exact place perhaps, and not with these particular people, she reasoned, but somehow it all seemed. . . familiar.

She wrapped her arms around herself, cold and hot at the same time.

Perhaps it was just a remembrance of that first time in their village when she had thrown rocks at Simon. The village had been under attack then, and wasn’t that why they were here in this place to begin with? Maybe it was only that same sense of being hunted, of danger looming so close to those she loved. When she was trying to save—

Someone was singing.

The little girls!

Down below were shouts now. Had the soldiers heard them too? Seen them as their quarry?

Renata looked to where the soldiers should have been, but she could not see them now at all.

She felt the great wave of heat rise up once again, and this time the flames engulfed her. She felt herself falling. . .

* * *

Simon heard shouts, and the sound of horses coming up from below. He thought of mounting then to meet them, but with its still-tender hoof, this was unkind terrain for that kind of defense. He was on his own here. He tied the horse tight and made his way along, hiding behind rock or shrub or tree as best as he could.

Then he heard laughter. The riders had come upon the travelers, it’s true, but he could see now that none of them were soldiers, and this was no attack. Instead, the riders took large bundles from the travelers, as if they had been gathering something in the big cloth bags. Whatever it was seemed more bulky than heavy.

Words were exchanged, he could hear the sounds but not make out the words. That was not unusual, people here had their own language, and he could not always understand. The riders then headed back down into the valley from where they must have come.

The travelers, two of them, went along in the direction they had been heading before. Up hill, towards his own path and that of the little girls, towards the caves and shelter there.

Allies then? What should he do? And where was Renata? Maybe these travelers knew. He started down to intercept them.

* * *

Renata blinked, and for a moment, she did not understand where she was or what happened, and why she—

In a flash, it all came back.

Where were the girls?

Had the soldiers come and gone then?

Was everything she loved in this world to be taken from her again?

Again?

She realized then that she had probably fainted. She tried to rise, but suddenly something big and wet started pummeling at her face. It didn’t hurt though, and smelled of something earthy and rotten—not carcass, but like someone had been digging in a rotten stump, perhaps.

And not exactly pummeling, either: licking and slobbering would be more accurate. It was a very large dog who was wet and stinky and had no manners at all. She was vulnerable, and could not cry out for the idea of its tongue in her own mouth, nor did she have the strength to push it away.

To her relief and rescue, someone called, “Tobias, stop that, you big ugly brute!”

Simon came then, not into her sight, but she heard him call, “Renata?” 

The dog stopped licking her and turned to protect her instead, growling with his teeth bared, even though he was still drooling.

“Toby, stand down, lad. There’s a good boy,” the other voice said.

Yet another voice added, “Stupid mutt, can’t you see the lady already has a champion?”

Renata tried to rise. To her great surprise, the dog sat then and offered his paw up to Simon, who had come into her vision by then. 

Simon stopped, sheathed his sword, and took the dog’s offered paw with a grin. Then the knight turned to the two travelers, demanding, “Who are you and what do you here?”

He quickly regretted his tone.

As he helped Renata to rise, he amended, “Your pardon, but we are seeking shelter from the storm and must get on—“

”Ah, the Witches,” said one of the travelers, who Simon and Renata could see now were two older women.

Simon’s eyes grew wide, and his hand went again to his sword out of habit. Had word of the women come even here?

“The Witches of November come early,” said the other woman, twisting her head like a curious bird as she studied him.

Simon sighed. They were not talking of Renata and Cebille, nor the little girls. They were talking about the Mistral winds.

Renata, in truth, wasn’t that cold, but she found herself trembling. Not for herself, but for the others still, and she didn’t really know why. Not true, she did. But she wasn’t about to spew out her vision of only moments before to strangers.

Far ahead, Renata could now see the group of small bodies on the ridge, edged there clearly against the horizon.

So could anyone else. What if the soldiers were real after all?

She said to Simon, “You must get them out of here, what are you doing back?”

But she knew he was looking for her, and she sighed, then apologized. Renata then looked to the travelers and said, “There is a cave up ahead, we thought to seek shelter there from the winds.”

“Nonsense, you’ll come stay with us. Everyone else does, sooner or later. Come along, we’ll gather your party and it better be soon, it’s a good enough trek for us too, and we’re quite used to it.”

The other woman shook her head. “Sounds like a good idea, the caves, I mean. A good dose of tea to fortify the brood. Look.” She pointed toward their little silhouettes against the sky and the growing dark clouds, then added, “They can’t be anything but wee things. The storm is gathering its strength, they will need all their strength too.”

The first woman agreed to that, and the second pulled a small knife and wacked off a branch from a nearby stunted evergreen that looked like some kind of pine.

“If you knew the winds were coming, why didn’t you go with the riders?” Simon demanded, but he lead the way back to his horse anyway.

“Oh good, we can have some of them ride at least,” said one of the women, as she squinted again towards the party ahead.

“What were you doing here anyway?” Renata said. “What was in the bags the riders took away?”

“Cones,” one said. “Bulky, not heavy unless you have too many, which I usually do. Better to travel that way, they don’t break so much in the journey.” 

Renata and Simon said together, “Cones?”

By now, Cebille had come back some to prod them along. She called, “What are you doing? We cannot tarry, it’s growing too cold already, as you well would know if you could hear the complaining from where we all stand.”

Renata didn’t know if her friend meant the girls or the priest, but either way, it was her fault.

“I’ll lead the way,” said one of the women. “Get those girls on the animals as best as you can and if you have to, carry some of them yourselves.”

One of the girls, Celine, was put on Eugene, there amongst all their supplies. The rest got to ride on the horse, except for Abella, who was given a piggy-back ride by Simon. She seemed to like it almost as much as riding the horse.

The cave entrance they had first seen was not where they went, to their relief. It had been too easily seen anyway. The entrance was small and long, and they could see that the adults would have had to crouch very low for quite a bit to get through. It was only the shadow and depth of the rock that had made the entrance look bigger before.

There was a larger cave beyond, it seems, but it was hidden from plain view by large outer rocks and a few small trees that made a sort of small winding maze.

One of the women said, “A bit out of the way. Serves a better purpose that way. There’s a small overhang there for the animals as well. Put up the poles, they will stay inside.”

She pointed, and Simon led the horse and mule that way. Abella helped him, he really had no choice. The hollow was three sides rock, and there were a couple of long pole-rails dropped down on one side. Abella led them both inside, and Simon put up the heavy poles.

There was a supply of hay there, and a large matting of straw as well. Used for cleaning up the manure and possibly for sleeping. Quite a comfortable place for the beasts, all things told.

A small hollow had been carved in the rock alongside. Not under the rock overhang though. It was out in the open and had collected rain water the horses could use for drinking, but Simon also saw the seeping of water from the rocks. A spring then, probably running more heavily in the spring and summer.

Clearly the place would be sheltered from most of the wind and the rain as well. Still, he could see that she was thinking of staying with them. He grabbed her hand and pulled her over the rails. “Come on, they’ll be fine. We’ll check on them from time to time, if you’d like.”

She seemed happy enough with that, but from the entrance of the cavern, she turned back to look again at the animals with some concern.

“Are there wolves around here?” she wondered. “They can’t get out, and what if there is a bear?”

Just then, the big ugly dog went by. He wiggled under the poles and went to the horse, sitting politely before the big animal’s head. The mule stepped over as well. They didn’t actually touch noses, but it was clear they were now allies. He wondered if they could really understand one another, and the notion made him laugh.

Abella looked up in question.

He said, “Looks like they will have a four-legged protector as well.”

Inside, there were comforts that a hermit might find luxurious. Two large palettes along the walls held lumpy bags that were clearly meant to be mattresses. They smelled as if they had been newly stuffed with alfalfa. Timbers had been set up in a sort of frame over the palettes, with heavy dark material draped over and oil-filled lanterns hung up close to the small bags meant to be pillows, he guessed.

Around the roomy cavern, there were odds and ends on every nearly-flat surface of the floor and crags in the walls: a smallish table, a box or two, other lanterns, dishes, candles, jars, cups, even some books. Metal hooks had been pounded into the rock as well, and pots and pans hung from them, as well as a few kitchen implements strung up with twine on the handles, including a giant spoon and a large knife.

One of the women sparked a flame, then the other went around the large cave-room, lighting a few of the other oil lanterns.

“What is this place?” Renata said. “I’m Renata, by the way, and this is Cebille.” She finished introducing the girls and the men.

Toby was whining at the entrance by then. The big dog had a dead bird in his mouth.

The little girls screamed in disgust, but one of the women came forward. “Good lad, Tobias. Set it down there, then come in and stay out of the way.”

The dog dropped the bird and settled down, watching everyone with a careful ear cocked toward the entrance as well. Abella watched the dog, setting herself also carefully out of the way.

The woman turned to the others. “I am Halette, and this is my friend, Robinette. We live in Hardouin, but we often forage around here, as you might have already seen or guessed.”

Robinette was already working on starting the fire in the pit that seemed to have been built a long time ago, and quite nicely too. The stones were even in size, and in some spots had been set with mortar. The pit had a wire rack for pans, and a rig set in for pots to be swung in and out over the flames. There was also what looked like a recess set down low in the stones that could be used as an oven.

Toby edge closer to the new flame, but he hesitated until Halette patted him on the head and said, “There now, sweeting, that’s a good boy. You can’t help it much if you stink. Old friends share a warming fire, no matter what the faults are.”

The dog started panting again. Abella moved closer to the dog, and he stretched out a paw in some kind of acknowledgment. She sat by his head then, stroking his ears to his great delight. They would both guard the door. 

“Foraging so far from the village?” Perilla said.

“It true that it’s a good distance if you follow the road meant for wagons and carriages,” Halette said. “Or the paths that skirt around the mountains and up through the passes, which were once meant for troubadours and traders, of course. But if you go up and over, it’s not so far, really. You have to walk, and you have to know where you’re going. Many a wanderer has gotten themselves lost.”

“Troubadours and traders,” Robi said with scorn. “More like smugglers and thieves these days. And lately it’s been refugees too, such as yourself.”

The women looked at each other with some worry then, but it could not compare with what Simon was feeling. He glanced to his brother, but the priest was bent down in his prayers.

Halette said, “Riders come to gather our finds on a regular schedule. That way we know where to be, and they can’t know where the best finds might be. That’s considered a trade secret of sorts. It’s a traditional thing almost all of the year except hard winter here, of course, and not thought of as eccentric at all.”

That last bit was said defensively, Renata noted, probably for the priest. But Pirella was not listening anyway.

Cebille said, “But what do you find out here? There’s nothing but scrub and rock.”

“Today, it was cones, but yesterday we found a nice patch of ivy,” Halette said. “And I forgot, I saw lichen, a new batch that hasn’t ever been scratched.”

“Where, sweetling? Up there— Oh never mind, we’ll get to it after the Witches pass.”

Cebille gasped. The little girls, who had been bickering for a closer seat near the fire but away from the dog, fell silent.

The older women didn’t seem to notice that even Pirella had looked up.

Robi continued, “And sunflowers and other mountain plants, it’s true. A bit late for berries this year, but there are rose hips a plenty in some places.” Then she rubbed her hands and fore arms. “Don’t care for thorns.”

“Robi has a nose for that sort of thing,” Halette explained. “It’s a gift really. And here’s mine.”

Halette pulled a large flat cup, more like a bowl, from a large pouch slung over her shoulder. Then she squeezed water from a bladder strung around Robi’s back. She set the cup close to the flames to warm as she started plucking needles from the tree branch she had cut and had been pulling along.

The little girls began to giggle, which made them wiggle. It was only a few seconds before someone slipped from a comfortable perch onto a sharp rock. It was Justine, who rose up with one hand to her hip and the other rubbing at the sore spot on her behind.

She looked all around for some kind of remedy, then sighed and went to the other side of the fire, but nearer the dog. The round little girl said to Abella, “You’ll just have to share and if you could, please, could you make him stop stinking.”

The dog panted happily at that, and it only took a minute before Abella started stroking Toby’s head again, murmuring her condolences for other people’s bad manners. Simon sat near them as well and prepared a seat for Renata. He glanced to his brother, who did the same for himself.

When Perilla was well settled, he looked around and saw that the other women were still standing. Chagrined, he rose to make sure that all were comfortable as well, much to Simon’s amusement.

Meanwhile, Abella was fascinated by Halette’s business. The little girl said, “Are you going to make tea with those?”

“Won’t they just float?” another said.

“They’ll poke at your eyes when you’re drinking like that.”

“Aren’t there bugs?”

“That would make it soup, not tea.”

Some of the little girls made noises of disgust.

Another said, “I’m hungry enough for that.”

A few laughed.

“I’m not eating bugs.”

“Just close your eyes and swallow them down, you won’t even notice.”

“You would if they wiggled. What if they’re worms?”

The girls all squealed at that. It echoed in the cavern. Renata hid her smile, Cebille didn’t try. The older women seemed to be enjoying the company quite a bit.

After Halette had dropped some needles into the warming water, she started separating the cones from the branch. She said to Abella, “Start looking inside for seeds in these. They are quite tasty really, but better if toasted with a bit of oil and garlic, and some basil and—“

Robi said, “Halette, please!”

“Sorry, we only have sparse provisions here. We like to forage for that as well. It’s a sort of cleansing, getting back to Godliness, in a sense. Like the Garden of Eden, only here.”

“Like playing hermit without the commitment of loneliness and long isolation,” Cebille said.

By then, Abella had found a few seeds. They looked very much like wood ticks which had already had their fill of blood. The little girls mostly squealed again as they looked at them in the palm of her hand—which was all the provocation that Abella needed: She bit into one.

The little girls screamed then, and the dog started whining as well.

Robi said, “Such noise is hurting his ears, sweetlings, try to be quiet, for you are hurting mine as well.”

With two sticks, Halette adjusted the water to boil a bit more slowly, and she motioned for Robi, who found more cups on a rock shelf.

She said, “We’re not used to guests here, so you’ll have to share amongst yourself.” She poured some more water into the cups and with the hem of her skirt, set them also quite close to the flames.

Halette had found other seeds by then, as well as some from her pouch that she had collected during the day. Those were a different variety, with a sort of wing-like appendage to one side. She tossed them into the air, and the seeds spun around and down with their single wing. The girls were fascinated, grabbed them up and tried it again.

One drifted over the fire and alighted on it’s way down into cinders.

“Look, a wood fairy!” Justine exclaimed.

The girls laughed and clapped with glee, but Pirella was clearly disapproving. Cebille stepped past him then, grazing his shoulder with her hand. In a moment, he followed her further into the cave. They stayed back there together, still within sight but mostly in shadow. For quite some time, they talked lowly between only themselves.

Simon leaned closer to Renata. “What do you think they speak of there?”

She had seen this between the two before. Renata didn’t usually know, nor cared to wonder. But this time she was afraid she knew too well: They were discussing what they would do if one or both of them—Renata and Simon—were lost to them and no longer there. It was a lesson they had learned this day.

“Tea is ready,” Halette announced. Using the hem of her dress, she poured some of the tea into each of the other cups. That made the concoction less strong in them, and those she gave to the little girls.

Each sampled the tea:

“It’s too bitter. It needs some honey.”

“It takes like dirt.”

“Makes my mouth pucker, and it stings just a bit.”

“Look, she spit in it! Now it’s dribbling on your shoes!”

“Didn’t spit, that’s pitch, from the needles.”

“I think one just poked me in the nose. It tickles.”

She crossed her eyes to see, and the rest of the girls found this very funny.

Simon stared at the remains in the big bowl-cup of full strength brew—Witches’ brew—not sure he wanted to try it at all.

Robi stepped near him and spoke in challenge, “It fortifies you, best for the cold that’s coming.” She took a cup and scooped some up, then held it out.

He took a sip. It tasted like it smelled, like he was chewing on a tree branch. He passed it over to Renata, who took several sips without comment. She handed it over to Halette, who meant to offer it to Cebille and Perilla. But Robi put a hand to Halette’s wrist and shook her head ever so gently.

It meant: Do not disturb them.

So Halette took her own sip instead.

The little girls had each sipped just a bit more, and seemed hesitant to continue.

Simon said, “It’s medicinal, I suppose.”

Abella said, “Then you should drink it too, because if you are ill, then what becomes of the rest of us?”

Renata reached for one of their cups. “She has a point there, my champion. This will not be so strong. Aut vincere aut mori.”

Either conquer or die.

Some champion, he thought, bested by a growling dog. Simon felt himself flush with embarrassment, but he took the cup from her, held his breath and drank it all down in a few gulps. Luckily, it wasn’t that warm anymore, but it did sting a bit going down anyway.

Robi said, “You too, sweetling, we have this all the time, ourselves. We’ll make more later, there’s plenty left. We’ll be here for some time now.”

Simon agreed. “Drink it, you need it.”

But his look told Renata more, she was sure, like how could you be so stupid to get so lost and separated from the rest of the group?

It was her fault that their progress had stalled, but then, it was also her doing that they had found better shelter now. She could see the conflict play on his face, and she wanted very much to touch it, sooth it away.

But how dare he think her so helpless?

She put up her chin stubbornly and tried to drink all the tonic down the same as he did. She sputtered as some went up her nose, and the girls giggled with no mercy at all.

Perilla and Cebille had returned by then. The priest said, “What do we now?”

“Wait out the Witches,” Halette said, but saw the men both stiffen. She quickly added, “The winds, I mean, we call them the Witches. My heavens, you are skittish things. We have all that we need here for some time.”

At that, she took the bird that Toby had caught, and headed outside with a pot she pulled from a hook in the roof.  “Back in a bit, have to fix this fine chicken. Come Toby, my lad, there will be scraps.”

Robi said, “So why are you here? You seem a strange sort of troop. I hope you are not invaders, for you have already failed quite miserably.” She thought this very funny.

Renata said, “You are Robinette Dumars.”

Robi sobered immediately. Her eyes narrowed, but she said defiantly, “I am.”

At that, Renata handed her Noel’s note.

* * *

Later that night, when all had selected their resting places, the Mistral came as Renata had predicted. The older women had known it too, and thank God that they had come along. Perilla led them in the Lord’s Prayer before they settled down—in fact, he insisted.

The small party stayed in the cave with no complaint. But it was a terrifying sound all around them, for the winds blew in and about the other cave holes nearby, sounding like the howls of huge hell-bound wolves all around.

Most were restless, save Justine who could sleep though anything. Tobias often went to look outside, whining a bit. Abella did the same, worried about the horse and mule—Prince and Eugene. But neither girl or the dog stepped outside, nor did any other.

Renata knew that there was evil about here. She had seen the soldiers before, though no one else had, it seems. Or if so, they had not mentioned it—perhaps to spare the girls.

But what if the strange soldiers had not really been there? It might have been a vision, or maybe a sign of some sort. Whatever the case, it made her uneasy, and she couldn’t explain why. Not even to Cebille.

She looked over to Simon. He too was watching her. At first she felt ashamed that she had been so much trouble. Then she decided his look was not anger or anxiety. She did not really understand his expression at all, but she liked his eyes on her all the same.

Near dawn, the sounds outside stopped. Robi rose and tapped out the fire, for with the wind gone, the cave began to fill with smoke. Renata had not thought of it before, but she realized that these women knew well how to take care of themselves here in the wild side of the mountain.

She knew then that the little girls would be safe in their care, as Noel had promised. She closed her eyes, exhausted, but she heard the women start to whisper between themselves near the cave entrance.

“We’ll bring them along, of course. Let’s give them some time to sleep. Time enough, come mid-morning. That way we can make sure the others are all long gone.”

“But what of the Crusader? What of the priest? Do you think we should. . .”

It’s not that the women fell silent, it’s that Renata fell asleep.

* * *

The older women’s village, Hardouin, was set in the best possible place to be protected by the landscape, and could go completely without notice unless you knew just where to look. Rampaging armies, invaders of any sort, would miss the settlement, which was not really a village now, but a bustling town.

Crossroads down in the valley, travel and trading, that sort of thing—the women had explained. Wine, of course, and sheep and goats, as well. With sheep came the wool trade, and fullers and weavers and the need for such things for those trades, which is how the women made some of their living.

Those crafts had the need to color the threads, yarn and cloth.

“We collect things, grow things, but mostly we are nuts,” Robi said with a quite a snicker.

“Nuts?” Simon and Perilla said together.

“We have a grove of walnut trees. But don’t give us credit, been here quite sometime before my family married in. Not sure how or when or why. Don’t look a horse in the mouth when it’s meant as a gift.”

“What does that mean?” said one of the girls.

“Ah, here we are, the ancestral home,” Robi said as they neared a group of large buildings set nicely on a small hill overlooking the town.

Robinette, Noel’s cousin, had grown up here, as did Noel’s mother before. She had plenty of relations in the town, it seems. Her husband, long dead now but still well regarded, had even more.

As Noel had said, the home was quite large, and the women explained the larger outer buildings as well.

“Many of my workers have since gone these last few months. Don’t know where people go to these days, though some move with the weather come harvest time. Better to go down to the sea, I hear it’s more pleasant down there.”

Simon figured that part was true, but he also knew why others might leave as well. But he didn’t want to go into that now, for neither of these women had even mentioned in passing the Inquisitor, the Crusade, or the siege at Montségur.

He glanced to his brother, but the priest was looking around in alarm. “Where is the church?”

“The Abbey is on the other side of the village. We don’t have a priest, got some Holy Brothers and an Abbot, but he’s off gallivanting, it seems.”

“Surely not—“

Halette said, “Now, Robi, don’t blaspheme good intentions. I’m sure there is a reason, even in this. And the Holy Brothers have always kept more to themselves. You take their surplus walnuts, I notice, and they take our own surplus goods in return.”

Robi snorted her opinion of the notion.

Halette explained, “We barter more than we purchase, so we don’t have much for coin either way, but that suits us well enough, at least here.”

Halette was from another town originally. She added, “Asile, on the other side of the mountains from here.”

“How did you come to be here?” Renata asked, curious at all the activity around.

“Been so long, lass, you know I can’t remember. Now I’m so busy, I don’t think about it now. Must have been a good enough reason, at least at the time.”

Robi said, “Good enough to want to forget.”

Halette nodded.

Simon said, “Asile, that’s near the fortress mount at Montségur.” He then regretted saying it.

The woman crossed herself, but said nothing, slightly shaking her head at her friend. Robi sighed, but said, “Come in, sweetlings, our house is yours as well.”

Renata said, “Noel said you had children, do they live with their families here?”

“One’s in Rome, wearing a robe, last I heard, though he started that foolish notion from talking to the Holy Brothers here. One’s in Heidelberg playing with scholars and artists, and one married a vineyard in Gascony of all places. My daughters are married too, praise God, good dowries and good looks. One lives in Spain, one in England, of all places to be. The other comes around once in a while, she married a younger son of the lord around here only last spring.”

“Nobility—“ Perilla started, but the woman didn’t let him continued.

“Don’t hold with that word much. It’s forfeited land there. The original family fled to Gascony too. Hear word now and then from my son and his own wife’s family there, the ones with the vineyard.”

Cebille had gone pale. She said, “The others, the ones who fled, they were—“

Of course, they were Abella’s father’s family—they must have been. Renata went to her friend. Abella never knew them, but now perhaps she never would. It seemed a world away, given the hard road they had come down to make it this far.

The older woman shrugged, ”They are well enough, I’ll grant you. Plenty of warning, lucky with that, some people seemed blessed that way. The man who holds the place now is a cousin to the Inquisitor somehow.”

“Which makes you also a relation,” Simon said.

Robi spat then, not lady-like at all, but none had accused her of that affliction anyway. The woman said the name like it was profane: “Fournier.”

Halette said, “We don’t pick our relations, they are inflicted upon us by birth. For the rest, well, marriage is a tricky art, Crusader, for the heart is a devilish thing.”

“Still, you benefit, in a sense, and have some sort of protection,” Perilla said.

No one spoke for an overly long moment.

Finally Halette said, “Look at those poor little mites, they are shivering and I bet they haven’t had a good hot meal in some time.”

Robi then pinched at Justine, the round little girl, adding, “Most anyway.”

Justine protested, but the others just laughed, and taunted each other for they had much practice by now.

Halette summoned a servant then. “Prepare rooms for the women and the girls, the men can stay in the guards’ quarters, there aren’t many there now.”

“Guards’ quarters?” Simon said.

“Used to be a manor here, like I said. Younger sons, and son’s by marriage who had arms to lend, and even a dower or two over the centuries, I hear. Sacked and destroyed decades ago, the manor, I mean. The people of the village took the stones to rebuild other things—bridges and mill works and such. If the liege lord wants his stones back, he’ll have to tear down those that make up part of the Abbey as well. The guard house is still there, it’s always been such. We use it for workers come tree time.”

“Tree time?”

“Harvest walnuts, didn’t you hear? This is a crossroads, as I said before. People wander through, some on their way to who knows where, but we pay them a pittance, plus room and board, to help us bring in the walnuts. Someone has to shake the trees and even so, there is climbing as well.”

“What do you do with walnuts?” Cebille said. “Is that the orchard I saw?”

“Good eye, you must know your plants. Most vagrants stand under waiting for an apple or pear to fall, but it’s walnuts that have taken a liking here. God works in mysterious ways and there’s no use in trying to reason them out when you can’t know for sure either way.”

“Amen to that,” Perilla said, and Simon could see that his brother was trying not to laugh.

Maybe the priest was just overly tired too, but Simon could not guess why his brother would be grinning that way.

Just then he saw it too: Abella was standing near Prince’s big front feet, while another girl held the big horse’s lead. The other girls nearby were looking on with advice, while Abella then tapped at the beast’s foreleg.

The big war horse would then raise a hoof just a bit, and Abella reached under to pull out a handful of something, handing it over to the other girls who all leaned over it together with a great deal interest.

Abella would then place another few—what looked like stones at first—under the hoof and rubbed at Prince’s leg again.

As Simon stepped a bit closer, he realized that it was walnuts being cracked like that. Prince was being used as a giant nut cracker, and he had to hand to Abella, she had his war horse well trained.

Cebille called, “Abella, what in the world are you doing?”

“Missed a few there,” Halette called. “I can see you are hungry, we’ll get you some—“

Robi shouted, “You there, sweetling, don’t break that branch!” Robi rushed over and reached for one of the other girls who was pulling with all of her weight—and Justine still had a good deal of weight, though she had lost a bit in their travels on the way.

Halette laughed, “Come along, girls, let’s get you some food before you manage to tear the place down. The good ladies of the kitchen will have you compared to locusts, I think.”

During their meal, the women explained that they grew walnuts, many people around here did, including the Abbey lands. But Robi’s husband’s family had always ran the meal mill too: pressing the walnuts to get out the oil, grinding the shells into powder which was then mixed into plaster, and the remaining walnut meal was fed to livestock on the manor lands.

“Sometimes the old trees fall in the winter, and we use the wood to make furniture too. You can see this table and some of these chairs, and bedsteads in some of the rooms.”

“But what were you doing there in the mountains?” Pirella asked once again.

Simon wondered if his brother trusted these women. And if he should.

Robi said, “Well, this is my husband’s work, I run it now but it was meant to belong to my sons. They have no interest and it may go to the Abbey after I’m done, but in the meantime, Halette needs a hobby or two.”

Halette explained, “The walnut husks are used by the fullers to color their yarn and cloth, so are the ivy and—“

”That would explain the lichen,” Renata said.

And the women all nodded to the men’s great confusion.

Renata explained, “Lichen and ivy, they are used to produce different colors in the cloth.”

Simon nodded, Pirella looked embarassed. He said childishly, “Of course, I knew that.”

“We take in lots of things, collect them in the sheds out back. Onion skins, fennel and sorrel, lavender and yarrow, even cones and foxglove and nettle.

At the mention of nettle, the little girls groaned.

Robi said, “Ah, sweetlings, I can see you’ve had some suffering with that.” 

Stinging nettle, while useful for many things, was true

to its name. Then she recited:

“Nettle for gout has mettle you see.

Take a bit of dried nettle and make a strong tea.

Care in the harvest, wear gloves if you please.

Use shoots for a salad, brew mostly the leaves.”

Renata said, “That’s charming, is that from a medicinal book?”

Halette said, “I have trouble remembering—what to use and which parts and how much—so Robi has taken to making up little verses to help me along. Someday perhaps I’ll have her write some of them down.”

Cebille said, “I thought dyeing was best with fresh cut plants, flowers and berries, roots and shoots, those kinds of things?”

“True enough, but the wool is longest in winter.”

“What does that mean?” asked Abella, now offering them all a handful of nut kernels with only a little dirt and shell mixed in as well.

“Means the sheep are sheared in the winter to get the most yield,” said Pirella.

Abella looked horrified. “Don’t the sheep get cold then?”

Cebille said quickly, “And the onions, what of them?”

“Onion skins,” said Robi. “We let the farmer’s store their crops here and have our workers bind the onions into bundles for a small enough fee.”

Renata and Cebille knew what she meant: bundles like the kind you see hanging in shops and kitchens. Not that the men would know about that.

“In the process, the excess outer skins are collected and sold,” Halette said. “It’s amazing how much stuff falls away. No sense letting it go to waste. Makes yellow or orange, or even a brownish-gold color.”

The other said, “Berries come out like you’d think, but roses and lavender, sometimes with a bit of mint, make a very pretty color of red.”

“What about the moss?” Simon said. He meant the kind on the rocks that they had to scrape off.

Halette said, “Lichen, you mean. Depends on the kind. Some is also brown, or a dark-blood red sometimes and all colors in between.”

Robi said, “Yarrow gives yellow and green, foxglove comes out green like an apple, nettle is also green like grass.”

Cebille was quite knowledgeable too. She explained that her family’s trade had always been weaving since anyone could remember. But she had never taken a liking to it, which was why it was so easy to leave her family behind when her husband first decided to become a fisherman instead of a younger son of a nobleman in the mountains.

Renata was surprised that her friend had said so much, for Cebille hadn’t mentioned her husband for quite some time. Not that she was complaining. Renata knew how much Cebille had loved the man, and also how long it took for her friend to care about any other man again.

A servant came back. Their quarters were ready.

Halette said, “We’ll take them there.”

The servant just nodded and got on with her regular business, whatever that was.

* * *

The older women first led the little girls to their rooms, where they all promptly went down for a nap. She shut the door on them and signaled the others along. As they passed a room nearly across the hall, she said to Renata and Cebille, “You will be staying in there.”

Outside, they made their way up a steep hill past the sheds. From there, they could see fields stretched out in the valley. A wide thoroughfare ran along the bottom there, perhaps something built by the Romans.

“That field nearest was Halette’s onions this year,” Robi said with great pride. “And in here, we store those of our own and those from the village.”

They went inside a shed with great dividers where large batches of produce were still yet to be dealt with. The smell at first pleasant and earthy, then quickly grew overwhelming.

Robi said, “As you can see, there is still plenty of work.”

From lengths of thick twine stretched across rafter to rafter, bundles of lavender and yarrow were bound and hung upside down, nearly dried.

Simon grabbed a particularly fine onion as big as his fist. He looked like he might bite into it, but Renata took it from him instead.

“What is in those casks?” Cebille said.

“The casks are empty, but when we have the skins, or dried plants of any sort, we ship them to nearby guilds or merchants in these.”

She opened one up, it smelled like fennel.

“As you might guess, the cask and barrel maker is quite a lucrative trade as well. He is also a relation, of course.”

The women next led them to the biggest shed. One of the large bins there was nearly filled with walnuts, most still in husks. Another bin had only some on the floor, and yet another on the other side of the building had only walnuts waiting to be shelled. There were larger barrels stacked along the walkway between them, and smaller casks on top as well.

Robi put her hand on one of the smaller casks. “Storage for the walnuts, the kernels, some call them meats, and the oil after the pressing, which is done in a smaller stone house out back.

“You said you use the shells for plaster,” Pirella mentioned.

“Have to grind that down as well. There’s a mill that we use in another village, for a fee or a percentage, but if we have use of your mule, we could do it here too.”

Renata quickly agreed.

“Quite an enterprise here,” Simon said. He meant it to end the tour and the conversation, because he very much wanted to discuss their next plans.

But Pirella asked, “But how do you get the walnuts from the husks and the meats from the shells?”

“Glad you asked,” Robi said. “Particularly since many of our workers seemed to have disappeared this year. We used to have a sort of machine that my husband designed, but that broke down and the smithy was told by the Abbott not to fix it because—“

Halette quickly stepped in. “We’ll think of something. Surely you must be tired as well. Let’s get you a decent meal and send you off to your rest.”

* * *

In the guard house that first night, Simon and Pirella discussed what would come next.

“Maybe they will want to stay here,” Pirella offered.

“I wish they would, if not for themselves and their safety, then for that of the little girls,” Simon said, but he didn’t think that would be the case.

Want of comfort had never overcome the women’s worry for the safety of the little girls, nor had their desire to find out what happened to their families.

He said, “Maybe we can find out something ourselves. I mean, while the women stay here in safety.”

And in selected isolation. Robi was a well-placed woman in the town here, meaning she had wealth and connections. That would keep accusations down to a minimum, especially since she seemed to have an advantageous relationship with the Abbey.

Simon said, “Do you think you should stop by the Abbey?”

Pirella selected a cot and grabbed one, then two, woolen blankets. He sat and punched at the matting that would serve him better than the ground had for so long. But he was thinking, Simon could tell.

Finally, Pirella laid full out. “Turn off the lamp after you’ve stoked up the fire, for I’m bound if I can keep myself awake much longer.”

He knew it was no answer, and also that Simon wouldn’t push him. In fact, Simon didn’t want him to be a priest at all. Pirella had never regretted his decision, except in those times when their charges had been in danger. Then he wished he could have done more.

That was not now, they seemed safe enough here. He said, “What do you think we should do then?”

“Stay a few days to get our bearings, and then make a sweep of the surroundings, see if there’s any rumors on the winds.”

“I’m not treading through the snows while you ride that big horse of yours.”

“I think we need a simpler mode of travel, in fact.”

Pirella rose up on his elbow then. “Incognito? Why is that?”

But after he said it, he knew. There were closer now to the Inquisitor’s camp. Chances are, someone they knew might come through—quartermaster, squire, fellow priest or worse, someone of the Church that could call him to task.

Simon was mostly free to come and go, or could give an excuse when ordered to do something he didn’t want to do, for he had not pledged subservience. But a priest was bound by obedience, Perilla had taken an oath. Perhaps it would be better if he stayed as well.

Stay with the women, hide away like the children. He couldn’t let Simon go alone.

Pirella said sarcastically, “I suppose a night or two with a roof would be too much to ask.”

“Amen,” Simon said and blew out the lantern.

The next day, they told the women of their plan well out of hearing of the girls. In fact, they left without saying goodbye. The snows had come deeper to the higher peaks by then, and also down lower than it had been before.

But Simon had a plan in his head, when to go and which direction—though how the notion got there, he couldn’t say. So he told his brother the usual: “It’s part of my quest, I can’t explain.”

* * *

They met few travelers, and Simon suspected those were robbers or looters of some sort. But Pirella had nothing of value to steal, and Simon had left most of his worldly goods behind himself, so there was not much they had to tempt anyone else: Mostly they were left alone.

He had his knife, and a snare for rabbits. He could kill a bird with a rock sling since he had been a boy. But his taste for flesh had diminished of late, and he suspected it was their own desperation.

He’d been hunted long enough now to not want to do it himself. Though on occasion, he thought perhaps he should have brought Tobias, the dog, instead of his brother. One was a better hunter, and Simon preferred to see that Perilla was safe.

Over a campfire one night, Simon asked, “Little brother, have you ever felt like. . . like someone seems over-familiar,  or as if something feels like its happened before?”

“You mean, like we’ve done this before. Yes, every time we camped since that dung-heap of a village when you first met the witch.”

“That’s not what I mean, I—“

”You mean, like dreams? Premonitions, feelings of foreboding and—“

Pirella stopped. Maybe he did know, but he would not admit that Cebille was as comforting to have near him now as if she were his leg or arm. Not attached, never touching, but somewhere in his mind, in his heart and his soul, she was part of him somehow.

Instead, he said, “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

But Simon looked at him from the other side of the fire. His face wavered with the heat of the flames, but not his gaze. The knights eyes didn’t look the same, they somehow looked. . . like those of a stranger.

Pirella could not return the look. He mumbled, “Odi et amo.”

I hate and I love.

Maybe both was true, but in any case, he could not imagine life without Cebille now. He said out loud, “It seems so quiet here.”

Simon grunted then and reached to stoke the fire. Already he missed the women and the little girls too. “Never fear, little brother, tomorrow we’ll head into one of the camps and see what we can find out there. They’ll probably conscript us into their cause, and we’ll never have quiet again.”

“You think that wise?” Perilla said in true alarm.

“No, but the trees aren’t talking and I’ve yet to hear one useful thing from the stones or the snow.”

Pirella sighed. He knew it was true, they had to find word, and maybe then the women would stay where they belonged.