The Last Cathar
‘Are you okay in the back there Rae? You’re very
quiet.’
‘Just
thinking … and enjoying the scenery.’
The
road climbed steeply and Meri, the driver, dropped down a gear as the engine
stared to strain. Through the window Rae watched the familiar garrigue sweep
past; a rugged, jumbled landscape of steep scrubby hills separated by deep
wooded gorges. Vines clinging to the hillsides, their roots seeking what little
moisture they could find in the shallow red sandy soil filled clefts and
crevices in the underlying limestone. She remembered hiking holidays with their
father and the scent of the late summer blooming of the aromatic herbs; the
lavender, sage, rosemary and wild thyme that flourished among the rocks. But
instead of the scent of crushed herbs, the faint tang of acrid wood smoke
creased her nostrils. ‘Smells like a fire somewhere,’ she said.
‘I
can’t smell it,’ said Meri, sniffing. ‘Anyway I still think you’re very brave
to be going home, so soon after …’
‘Peter’s
death,’ said Rae. ‘It’s alright Meri, you can say it.’
‘It’s
just that I worry about how you’ll cope up there, alone, in Tirvia. It’s so
remote in the Pyrenees in the winter. I still think it would be better if you
stayed with us, at least for a few weeks. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to cope
if anything happened to Gerrard.’
‘Nothing’s
going to happen to me, as long as you focus on the driving.’ A truck swept past
on the opposite direction, its wheels dangerously over onto the wrong side.
‘Your sister has made up her mind. We’re not that far away if she needs
anything and we’re staying with her in Tirvia until she gets the cottage in
order. I think you should stop worrying.’
‘Thank
you Gerard.’ Rae smiled. Her sister took after their mother, an effervescent,
gregarious English woman who had fussed over them all in the way that Meri now
fussed over her own family. She took after their enigmatic father; an ascetic,
austere Catalan from Lleida who had escaped to England after the city had
finally fallen to Franco’s fascists. Whatever the attraction had been between
two such dissimilar people as her parents it had been unbreakable until the day
her father had passed peacefully away.
The smell of wood smoke had
persisted and Rae had a familiar recollection of a small castle perched on a
hill top overlooking a village. ‘I think there’s a town not far ahead,’ she
said. ‘Perhaps we could stop for coffee?’
‘Vllerouge-Termenès,’
repeated Gerard, consulting the Michelin map spread open on his knees. ‘Quite
right, how did you know?’
‘Something about the countryside
jogged my memory.’
‘It means red town, I suppose,’ said Gerard.
‘Your
French is improving,’ said Meri, chuckling.
‘Well
I didn’t have the benefit of growing up in a multilingual household like you
two,’ countered Gerard. ‘What’s Termenès mean, then?’
‘I
think it comes from the Latin root for terminus, meaning it was the limit of
Roman cultivation,’ said Rae.
‘What,
before the bad-lands of you uncivilized Catalans?’
‘What
did the Romans ever do for us?’ said Meri, laughing. ‘They didn’t even leave us
any straight roads.’
The
road wound around a bend in the hillside revealing a narrow wooded gorge
amongst the trees of which they caught glimpses of the village, a cluster of
stone houses their mottled tiled roofs dominated by the pale grey ramparts of a
small castle. A signpost indicated a cap park at the brow of the hill and Meri
swung the car in and parked. A narrow lane led down to the village between high
grey stone walls brightened by clumps and trailing tassels of bright green ivy.
It had been warm when Rae had arrived at Narbonne station the previous evening, but this morning there was a distinct feeling of autumn in the air. The sky was a washed, pale blue and a cool southerly breeze carried with it the scents of pine and the promise of early snow in the Pyrenees. Rae sniffed the air and caught the whiff of wood smoke, perhaps from a fire lit to warm one of the older, less well insulated houses. The lane led down to a narrow ravine that divided the village in half. A stream trickled along the concrete channel at the bottom but the deep, stone walled sides evidenced the torrent that would follow winter storms and spring snow melts. A narrow bridge linked the two halves of the village and they sat of the café terrace beside it, sipping bowls of steaming hot coffee, black for Rae. Gerard and Meri layered butter on their croissants but Rae was satisfied with a smear of jam on a slice of fresh baguette. A profusion of pink, red and orange geraniums overflowed from wooden flower boxes bolted to the stone parapet of the ravine and beyond it the north wall of the castle loomed over the roofs of the houses.
It had been warm when Rae had arrived at Narbonne station the previous evening, but this morning there was a distinct feeling of autumn in the air. The sky was a washed, pale blue and a cool southerly breeze carried with it the scents of pine and the promise of early snow in the Pyrenees. Rae sniffed the air and caught the whiff of wood smoke, perhaps from a fire lit to warm one of the older, less well insulated houses. The lane led down to a narrow ravine that divided the village in half. A stream trickled along the concrete channel at the bottom but the deep, stone walled sides evidenced the torrent that would follow winter storms and spring snow melts. A narrow bridge linked the two halves of the village and they sat of the café terrace beside it, sipping bowls of steaming hot coffee, black for Rae. Gerard and Meri layered butter on their croissants but Rae was satisfied with a smear of jam on a slice of fresh baguette. A profusion of pink, red and orange geraniums overflowed from wooden flower boxes bolted to the stone parapet of the ravine and beyond it the north wall of the castle loomed over the roofs of the houses.
‘I’d
like to have a look around the castle?’ said Rae. ‘I think we can spare half an
hour and still be in time for lunch at Ax-les-Thermes.’
‘If
you like,’ replied Meri and then with a wink to Rae. ‘Gerard still likes his
history, even more now he’s retired. He’s always glad of an opportunity to look
round a castle.’
‘Have
to fill my declining years somehow,’ countered Gerard.
The
good natured bantering tugged at Rae’s heart and brought back to her how much
she missed Peter and the joy of sharing with him all of life’s intimacies; the
little as well as the great. She turned her head so that her sister and
brother-in-law could not see the welling tears and pushed back her chair.
The
crossed the bridge and followed the narrow lane until a faded sign indicated
that they should turn left towards the castle. The lane lead them along the
side wall to the back where there was a narrow archway leading into the central
courtyard. At the far end a wooden staircase lead up to a stout door. They
climbed the stairs and looked at the notice advertising the opening hours.
‘Ten
o’clock,’ read Gerard, knocking on the door and rattling the handle. ‘It’s
already ten past, typical French. Probably not worth hanging about for anyway.
He
turned, stumped down the wooden steps and strode back across the courtyard, the
two women trailing in his wake. As he reached the archway he had to stop to
allow the passage of an elderly man coming the other way. Making an exaggerated
gesture of checking his watch Gerard waited while the man approached through
the narrow stone arch. The old man, who seemed to be in no hurry, stopped when he drew abreast of the three
visitors. Rae studied him with interest, observing the patched, wheat coloured
smock and the drab, homespun wool trousers flecked with the reddish-brown of
local lambs’ wool. His brown, calloused feet we encased in worn leather
sandals. His tanned, weathered face, deeply lined and creased, was framed with
grizzled white hair and beard. But his brown eyes sparkled clear under the
heavy white brows and around his neck a Celtic cross hung on a leather thong.
‘You
wish to visit the Chateau?’
Before
they had time register that he had addressed them in English, Meri had launched
into French asking if the castle would be opening for visitors.
‘Oui
Madame,’ replied the man, then reverting to English. ‘The curator is attending
a meeting at le Marie, the town hall. She will be somewhat late. But I can let
you in.’ He made no move towards the stairs, however; but stood and regarded
them quizzically.’
‘I
am Father William,’ he said, finally breaking the short silence. ‘I am, as you
could say, the caretaker of the Chateau. Is this your first visit to
Languedoc?’
‘No,
we live in Narbonne.’ Gerard tilted his chin in the direction of Meri and then,
with a glance at his watch, ‘And we are on our way to Ax-les-Thermes for
lunch.’
‘And
Madame, you live here also?’
Rae
returned his inquiring gaze, looking into eyes in which the pupils seemed to
expand and to emit flashes of energy like black diamonds glinting in the
sunlight. The tang of wood smoke wafted across the courtyard and Rae’s fingers
unconsciously rubbed the outstretched wings of the small silver dove she wore
on the chain around her neck.
‘I
live in Tirvia, in northern Lleida,’ she replied. ‘My sister Meritxell and her
husband Gerard are driving me home.’
‘You
are not English then? I thought I heard a hint of Spanish in your sister’s
accent.’
‘Catalan,’
interjected Meri. ‘We were born in England, but our father was from Lleida.’
‘And
you have been away … Madame …’
‘Raemonda,’
replied Rae, surprised at how little objection she felt towards being
questioned by a perfect stranger, albeit a priest. ‘Yes, I have been in England
settling up my husband’s estate. Now I am returning home.’
‘Your
husband was taken suddenly? I am deeply sorry Madame.’
‘He
was involved in a car crash, the car caught fire and he was trapped,’ replied
Rae, feeling her chest tighten as she recalled the late-night visit of the
Policewoman to explain why Peter would not be coming home, ever again.
‘He
did not suffer. I am sure he did not suffer,’ replied Father William reaching
out his hands. Tentatively Rae stretched out her hand and let him take hold of
it. His grip was firm but gentle and seemed to transmit a tingling energy that
suffused her with a calming warmth.
‘The
autopsy said that he was knocked unconscious by the force of the accident, he
would have felt nothing,’ she replied.
Benedicte,
parcite nobis. I will pray that God lead him to a rightful end,’ He closed his
eyes and raised his chin towards the sky. Then his faced relaxed into a smile
and he released Rae’s hand.
‘But,
Mesdames, Monsieur, you must please forgive me for my intrusion. You wished to
visit the Chateau. I am sure you will find it interesting, if you still have
time?’
‘Oh
I think we can spare a few minutes, can’t we Gerard?’ said Rae, sensing her
brother-in-law’s growing impatience.
‘Yes,
come on,’ said Meri. ‘It doesn’t matter what time we get to Ax.’
Father
William led them back up the wooden stairs. Pointing to the keypad beside the
door he turned to Gerard. ‘Please, Monsieur, the code is one, three, two,
three.’
Gerard
punched the numbers on the keypad, there was a click and he pushed open the
door, standing back to let Father William lead them into the cavernous gloom
inside. Father William found pointed toward the light switches and Gerards
flicked them on, lighting up the recreated great hall of the castle.
‘You
will find a display of the history of the Chateau … and of the Cathars who
lived in Languedoc in the 12th and 13th centuries. I
think you will find it most interesting. I will leave you to wander around on your
own. Please enjoy your visit.’
‘Thank
you,’ said Meri, her words addressed to his back as Father William disappeared
down a flight of narrow stone steps to a lower floor. ‘Are you all right Sis?
He seemed very inquisitive.’
‘Far
too familiar, if you ask me,’ said Gerard. “Looks more like an ancient hippy
than a priest.’
‘Il
est un bon homme … he seems like a good man to me,’ replied Rae. ‘I didn’t mind
answering his questions. Anyway we’re here now so let’s have a look around.’
There
were illuminated display boards in the hall and there was silence for several
minutes as they started to read.
‘This
one talks about the Cathars,’ said Gerard. ‘They were some sort of Christian
sect that believed in reincarnation. They thought that the material world was
the creation of an evil being in opposition to God. They believed in
the divinity of Jesus but denied his human aspect. They refused to acknowledge
the cross as a symbol of worship.’
‘All
sounds vaguely heretical to me,’ observed Meri. ‘Not what the Nuns taught us at
school at all.’
‘That’s
exactly what the Pope thought when he launched a Crusade against them in the 13th
century,' replied Gerard. ‘Massacred thousands in Beziers and other towns, and
the Inquisition burned hundreds of their holy men, Perfects, they were called,
at the stake.’
‘Oh,
how terrible,’ exclaimed Meri. ‘But I thought the Crusades were supposed to be
about reclaiming the Holy Land.’
‘Nothing
holy about any of it,’ snorted Gerard. ‘How men can kill and torture one
another in the name of some superstitious mumbo jumbo, defeats me.’ He paused
and glanced at the two sisters. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’
‘I’m
more than a bit lapsed myself,’ said Meri, laughing. ‘And what was it you used
to sometimes mumble, Rae, when one of the more annoying nuns insisted we make
the sign of the cross? “This is my forehead, this is my chin, this is one ear
and this is the other one?”’
‘Something
like that,’ assented Rae.
‘Actually
it sounds as if the Cathars were more Christian than some in the official
church,’ said Gerard. ‘The strictly practised charity, poverty and non-violence
and didn’t eat meat or animal products. They hated the Catholic Church for its
accumulation of wealth and they regarded women as equals. Women could become
Perfects as well as men. It also says there was a Cathar Perfect called
Belibaste who was captured by the Inquisition and imprisoned in Carcassonne. He
managed to escape and fled over the Pyrenees to Catalonia but was tricked into
returning to Languedoc. On the way back he was following an old shepherd’s
track through the Pyrenees when he was betrayed and arrested,’ he paused and
glanced towards Rae, ‘in Tirvia! He was then brought here to Villerouge-Termenès
and sentenced to death by the Bishop of Narbonne. Wow, listen to this, he …’
‘Mesdames,
Monsieur, bon jour, good morning.’ Gerard’s narration was interrupted by the
arrival of a stout, middle aged woman, breathing heavily after climbing the
steps from the courtyard. ‘I am sorry that we were not open when you arrived,
but I can see that you have found your way inside. The villagers are very
helpful but,’ she grinned apologetically ‘they are sometimes too free with the
access code.’
‘It
was the caretaker who let us in,’ replied Meri. ‘Father William he said his
name was, he told us the access code. What was it again? One three … two …
three. Yes, that was it.’
‘Pere
Guillaume? But we have no caretaker by that name. And the code … c’est bizarre!
That is not the correct number. Eh bien! Perhaps there is some mistake,
Madame.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Voila, it is no problem, you are here now
and you are most welcome to continue with you visit, please.’ Without waiting
for a reply she turned and busied herself opening up the gift shop before
disappearing into a tiny office at the back.
‘Guilhem,’
exclaimed Gerard. ‘Is that the same as Guillaume?’
‘Yes,
it’s the Occitan version,’ replied Meri.
‘Occitan?’
‘The
language originally spoken in Languedoc. It’s similar to Catalan,’ replied
Meri.
‘Wow,
you’d better come and see this.’ He beckoned them towards the display board and
pointed. ‘Look there. Belibaste was Guilhem … William Belibaste. He was the
last known Cathar Perfect and,’ he paused for emphasis, ‘he was burnt at the
stake … in this castle … in the year 1323!’
Meri’s
mouth gaped. ‘You mean that Father William … there is no such caretaker … and
the door opened with the wrong access code. My God have we seen …’
‘Just
look at your faces, said Rae, laughing, ‘and listen to the two of you, making
up ghost stories. I thought you were a rationalist Gerard with no time for
superstitious nonsense. There must be a perfectly sensible explanation.’
‘Yes,
of course, said Gerard, sheepishly. ‘But even so it’s an amazing coincidence.’
He raised his arm to glance at his wristwatch. ‘Goodness, look at the time. I
think we should get back on the road.’
Walking
back up the lane to the car park Rae let Gerard and Meri draw ahead, chattering
excitedly to each other about what they imagined they had seen. Rae thought
about her father and the walks they had enjoyed together in the mountains
around Tirvia. He knew the high country well and had used the same old
shepherd’s route into France as Belibaste, to escape Franco’s inquisitors. Later she had
brought Peter along and the three of them had enjoyed long summer hikes on both
sides of the border. She remembered the long talks they had enjoyed, sitting on
sun-warmed rocks gazing across endless miles of rugged peaks that appeared to
float above the blue hazed valleys against a dazzling backdrop of crystal
bright azure sky. The mountains
stretched westwards towards the sea and in the afternoon the moisture laden
wind from the Atlantic would bloom with dazzling creamy white buds of cumulus
that passed so low overhead that she imagined she could reach up and touch
them.
She
caught the scent of wood smoke on the breeze and turned for a last look at the
castle. Father William was standing on the ramparts. He saw her and raised an
arm in farewell. She waived back. ‘You can finally rest old friend,’ she
whispered. ‘You've carried you burden long enough but there will be others to
carry on the work now.
At
the car, Gerard was consulting the map. ‘I think we should skip lunch at Ax,’
said Rae. ‘We can pick up something along the way and I’ll cook you a good
dinner when we get to Tirvia. I just want to get home, there is so much I have
to do.’
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