LESSON 17
SURRENDER
MARCH 16TH 1244
This will be my last account of my time at Montsègur, and it is with a heavy heart and conscience that I put pen to parchment.
This morning over two hundred Perfecti marched down from the fortress and into the large wood-filled stockade at the southern foot of the mountain, where they were burned en masse. Some were cast into the flames by their captors, but most flung themselves into the huge pyre, more than willing to depart this world.
The remainder of the garrison was confined to the fortress and were compelled to look on—my sister, Lilutu, and myself were hidden among them, disguised as warrior knights. We do not fear death, any more than our brethren, but our destiny is to follow a different path of suffering.
The winds carried the horrendous death cries of my brethren to my ears and then swept them away just as efficiently. And although their suffering will haunt my consciousness the rest of my days, I did not feel compelled to weep, for I knew their joy and envied them their spiritual liberation. The sound of restrained weeping then caught my attention and the source was close by.
I was surprised and ashamed to look beside me and find tears rolling down Lilutu’s face. ‘Turn away if you must, and block your ears. But do not expose yourself. No warrior would weep,’ I whispered to her.
My sister turned from the fires and sank to her haunches, breathing deep in an attempt to stop her flow of tears. ‘How can you be so cold? These are our friends, our family.’
‘Would you have their sacrifice be in vain?’ I snapped. She knew as well as I what was at stake. ‘All is lost if you cannot refrain from expressing your selfish sentiment.’
The Franks had assured our men-at-arms that they would be free to leave Montsègur on the morrow, but there was no guarantee that we would be left alone until that time, for our enemies had made idle promises before. Lilutu and I may have been able to pass as warriors at a distance, as we were both quite tall for our gender, but at close range our chain mail and warrior tunics wouldn’t, in all likelihood, prevent our discovery.
Fortunately, we would not be marching out of Montsègur with the other men-at-arms tomorrow. Our departure would take place tonight, despite the risk to the remaining garrison and the hostages still being held by Hugues de Archis. Even if the Franks kept their word and permitted our warriors to depart with their wealth and weapons, they would be searched for the legendary treasure that had spawned the forty-year crusade against our people.
To do honour to the tens of thousands who had already given their lives for the cause, all survivors at Montsègur were prepared to make the same sacrifice to ensure the escape of my party this night. At all costs the secret we harbour must not fall into the hands of the papacy.
MARCH 17TH 1244
After two days of solid travel we have reached the chateau of Blancheford, the ancestral home of the fourth Grand Master of the Temple knights, Bertrand de Blanchefort, whose descendants still provide a safe haven for all of our faith.
As I am alive to pen this account, I need not dwell on the success of our escape from Montsègur, except to mention that one of the two Credenti warriors assigned to protect my sister and I perished during our treacherous descent of the sheer western face of the mountain. For it seemed that Pierre-Roger Mirepoix did not trust the guide appointed to us by the Order of Sion as well as our Perfecti leaders had done—for the knight did not subscribe to our faith. To add to our suspicions, the only member of our party to have witnessed the death of our Credenti protector was the Sion knight who went by the name of Albray Devere. According to his account, our colleague had lost his footing and in his panic to right the situation he’d wriggled so much that he’d worn the rope to shreds; Sir Devere suspected the rope had begun to fray as the three of us had each descended. Our Sion guide had then employed a spare rope to lower himself to the ledge and passage where we awaited him. The passage led into myriad secret tunnels through the mountain.
To add to the shadow cast over our guide, at the exit from the mountain our party was surprised by a band of Sion knights, who claimed that they were the true representatives sent by Marie de Saint-Clair and that Sir Devere was an impostor.
As their leader, Sir Christian Molier, is a Frenchman, it seemed more likely that he is of the Order de Sion, and after having our Credenti colleague perish at the hands of Sir Devere, our remaining Credenti guardian was more inclined to believe Molier’s claim.
Sir Devere was seized and disarmed by Molier’s men, two of whom were instructed to escort him back to Sion headquarters in Orleans immediately.
The Scottish knight protested strongly to his removal from duty and swore blind that it was Molier who was lying, despite being beaten for his accusations. Devere was then bound, and dragged from our midst on foot behind the horses of his captors.
Molier has swiftly delivered us to our first destination and hence I can only assume that our decision to trust him is a sound one. Our Credenti guardian, Pierre de Saint-Martin, and I both feel quite confident in entrusting Molier and his men to arrange the second leg of our journey.
Part of the treasure we have removed from Montsègur is a document of vital historical import. It has been in the possession of our holy order since the Visigoths sacked Rome in 410AD. It is hoped that in future times this sacred relic will authenticate the validity of my bloodline. As this document shall be no safer where I am bound than it would be in the hands of the papacy, it must remain here with my sister Lilutu who, with the aid of our Blancheford allies, will see to a suitable place of concealment. However, the treasure that has been entrusted to me does not belong in this world. And as I know of only one remaining passage that leads to the realm of its origin, I must make the perilous journey to Outremer—the land beyond the sun—otherwise known as the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
A late note: I have just been informed that the two knights who were assigned to escort Sir Devere to Orleans have been killed. One of the knights perished at the time of Devere’s escape and the other has died from his wounds upon arrival at Chateau Blancheford with this news.
As the impostor is again at large I have been warned to be on my guard, in case he attempts to acquire my sacred charge. Molier has posted guards outside the door of my quarters and I feel confident enough of my safety. The god of light and spirit is surely guiding my quest to a speedy conclusion.
There is no community left that can be entrusted to harbour and not misuse this great gift from heaven. Hence, the creator must be most eager to have his sacred treasure back in His fold where it shall be safe from mankind once more.
MARCH 25TH 1244
For a week now I have been a prisoner and have been forced to move at such a relentless pace that I have not had a moment to put pen to parchment.
The same night when last I wrote, my Credenti guardian, Pierre de Saint-Martin, was murdered as he slept and so would I have been, had I not vowed I would cooperate with my abductor.
The traitor Devere managed to gain access to my quarters at Chateau Blancheford via a window and bolted my room shut from the inside. Sword to my throat, he requested I accompany him or hand over my treasure into his safekeeping.
If not for the threat to my life, and my quest, it would have been difficult not to scoff at his demand. Still, I insisted upon knowing for whom the knight was working before I would consider either of his requests.
He replied that he had already told me that he was in the service of Marie de Saint-Clair, and applying more pressure to the sword tip at my throat he stressed that he would not allow my burden to be stolen due to the bad judgement of a naive girl. I was not given the opportunity to protest to his insult as he advised that he intended to see the treasure to its resting place, alone if he must.
Sir Devere had no need to lie to me with the situation as it was, and for a moment his conviction to the cause swayed my better judgement. I warned him that any man would perish on this quest without a daughter of the blood as a guide.
A loud pounding on my door prevented me from confiding in him further, praise god.
It was Molier who yelled through the thick wooden door to warn me that Pierre de Saint-Martin had been slain and he ordered that I unbolt my door at once for my own safety.
What little favour Devere had gained was abruptly dispersed, and I accused him of murdering yet another of my guardians.
Devere simply pointed out that his sword was clean. Then, wrapping my long dark braid around one hand, Devere dragged me from my bed and tossed my warrior disguise at me. ‘No time for a judicial inquiry now, princess,’ he hissed.
His lack of respect for my station infuriated me—no knight of the high orders would treat a priestess of the blood in such a manner, whether he subscribed to the faith or not. This seemed to confirm Devere’s falsehood in my mind and I glanced to the solid timber door that was being rammed, hoping the guards would break through.
‘You are not the only daughter of the blood left on Earth,’ Devere commented, as he spotted the two chains around my neck disappearing under my long undershirt.
He was implying that my sister would serve his purpose just as well as I, and she would prove a far less troublesome hostage. My sister was needed at the chateau and I was hardly going to expose her to further danger; she did not have the constitution for such an adventure. Too many people had died to aid my quest for me to be parted from my burden so easily.
I dressed quickly, but before we descended the rope to the courtyard that would soon be swarming with guards, Devere stole one of the chains from around my neck. It was the chain of gold that hosted the Star—the Highward Fire-Stone.
‘Stay close or lose it,’ he warned.
It puzzled me then, as it does now, why Devere didn’t take both sacred vials? Why bother extending me such a show of faith? And yet, if Devere had indeed been a knight of the high orders of Sion, he may well know that the Fire vial I carry is of little use to me or anyone else who is not a male of my bloodline, for it is meant for their consumption alone. Only the contents of the Star vial heightened my awareness and the supernatural talents inherent in me. Those of my order only partook of the Highward Fire-Stone during sacred rites or holy feast days and even then, it was in the smallest of quantities so that its influence was of a temporary duration. Too much psychic talent had been known to drive women of my order insane with visions of the dark times ahead and the evil thoughts and intent of the non-Perfecti. In this instance, however, I feel the creator would have forgiven me for using the sacred substance to divine the truth about my abductor.
As it is, I am in a complete quandary with regard to his true loyalties, for he has made it quite clear that he does not subscribe to the beliefs of my faith. And when I asked him why the Grand Master of Sion had chosen him for this mission, Devere claimed he was the only knight of his order who had previously visited our final destination. This seemed a satisfactory reason and yet I sensed there was something he wasn’t telling me. I fear that only when we reach the Sinai will I be enlightened to his true character and intent.
In a few days we will reach Marseilles, and board a vessel bound for Outremer. Once our sea voyage has commenced it will prove nearly impossible for Molier’s rescue party to find us. I can only pray that he will hunt us down before then. For, despite his tolerance so far, I do not trust Devere. The way he observes me at times is most unnerving. I can almost hear the selfish voice of Rex Mundi at work upon his mind and heart.
MARCH 28TH 1244
I found my abductor’s choice of transport for our sea voyage curious. Although the Templar Knights have many vessels that sail between their coastal strongholds on this side of the Mediterranean coast, Devere opted to purchase passage on an Armenian trade ship headed home to Cilicia, via Antioch. The ship and captain may have been Cilician, but the crew was a mix of Armenians, Christian Palestinians and Arabs—there were even a couple of Turks. Despite the cultural diversity of the crew they conversed mainly in Arabic, except for when they were socialising within their own ethnic group.
I suspected Devere’s choice of transport had something to do with the rift that had caused the formal separation between the Order of Sion and the knights of the Temple at Gisors in 1188. Since then the Templars’ parent order has slipped quietly into obscurity, whilst the Templars, free to pursue their own objectives, have dramatically increased their fame, wealth and power. It is my guess that the separation was all show, for the knights of the Temple are fast becoming more influential than any one king, emperor, or even the Church of Rome. I fear the papacy will not tolerate such undermining of their authority, and once they have finished with the persecution of my people, they will be looking for new wealth and knowledge to covet. One thing I do know for certain is that the two orders of knights no longer share the same Grand Master and have not done so since the time Bertrand de Blancheford held the high position.
Watching Devere converse with the captain and crew of our vessel, it is clear that he feels far more at ease with these men of the East than he did with the men-at-arms at Montsègur. It is also apparent that his colouring—dark hair, eyes and skin—is similar to these men. He certainly has no problem conversing in the foreign dialect. In fact, Arabic seems to roll off his tongue more readily than D’oc or English; for a Scot his accent had, from the start, seemed rather lacking in colour.
I, too, had dark colouring, for it is said that the blood of Judah still runs strong in the females of my line. One day, should I survive this quest, I shall be called upon to mate with a male of the blood and produce an heir to carry on the holy traditions and keep the sacred knowledge until such time as mankind is ready for an awakening. Three-quarters of a century ago, St Bernard had hoped that this time was nigh, but the past forty years of terror and torture have extinguished all hope in that regard.
Gone, too, is any hope of Molier’s rescue party finding me, now that we are at sea. I have spent every free waking hour praying that I shall still succeed in my quest before I am delivered from this loathsome existence—this is my only wish for this life.
MARCH 30TH 1244
My earthly vessel has been so wretchedly ill these past few days that, even now, to write this account is a great effort. Yet I am compelled to attempt to purge myself of these undesirable feelings in the hope of soothing my agitated spirit. For I cannot honestly say whether it is the sea voyage, or my companions, that sickens me more.
I still wear the apparel of a knight and the crew of this ship has conveniently resolved to treat me as a man, despite knowing full well that I am not. Devere has made an arrangement with the captain for me to use his quarters to relieve and refresh myself. Nonetheless, this seems to be the only allowance made for me.
I am not as fluent in Arabic as my abductor, yet I do comprehend enough of the language to understand a lot of the banter of the men whose company I am forced to keep day and night. They converse openly about their most base and perverted desires in regard to those of my sex, and it is obvious that there is not an honourable or pure soul amongst them. Some have even asked for my thoughts on their foul subject matter and they find it most amusing that I want to ignore their questions and refrain from comment.
As there is no escape for me from such circumstances and, clearly, I am surrounded by infidels despite their claim to be Christians, I asked Devere yesterday if he would please consider returning that which he stole. My request, as with everything else I have said in the last few days, was received with great amusement.
‘And grant you the power to manipulate us all? I don’t think so.’
Devere’s protest made me furious. Either he was a Sion knight and thus bound to oblige me, or he was the scoundrel I took him for, and I stated as much in no uncertain terms.
My abductor claimed that he had taken no oath binding him to my service. ‘It is my ancestry that granted me a place in my order and which binds me to this quest,’ he explained.
This response puzzled me, until he clarified his statement.
‘Although we must be distantly related, it will not prevent me from killing you, should you threaten to thwart my mission.’
Devere was implying he was of the royal line of Judah! I had never met a male of the blood before and my first reaction was to reject his claim—he was just trying to throw me off guard, and perhaps he was succeeding. He was standing over me, using our private business as an excuse to stand at uncomfortably close quarters to me.
‘Don’t think I have not considered that it might be easier for me to seek another daughter of the blood to aid me with this task, upon reaching Outremer.’ Devere’s voice was uncomfortably intimate and menacing.
‘You speak as if we were in plentiful supply and discernible at a glance.’ I could see through his game and would not be played for the fool.
‘It is not with my eyes that I can scry out such a woman, but with my heart,’ he said, in a tone that some might consider seductive.
Then, to my great horror, Devere stripped off his chain mail and exposed his bare chest to me. I was shocked to witness indisputable proof of his claim, for on the smooth skin of his torso he bore the same birthmark as I did, a red cross, and in the same place—just to the right of his heart.
‘I am only ever attracted to women of the blood.’
His conclusion made me gasp. Devere may have just confessed lust—for me, a holy virgin priestess. Such a confession was unforgivable and certainly not indicative of a knight of the higher orders and their vows of chastity. Marie de Saint-Clair would never have sent such a knight to protect me. ‘You could never be who you claim to be,’ I stated, and immediately departed his company to pray for his soul…and for my safety during this mission, which was now severely in doubt.
‘My apologies.’ Devere followed in pursuit to torment me further. ‘I forgot you Perfecti consider earthly love to be nothing more than prostitution, even when it is sanctified by marriage.’
‘You forget nothing,’ I accused. ‘You deliberately attempt to offend me and destroy my peace of mind.’
He smiled, again amused by my disapproving reaction. ‘Your thoughts regarding me must already have been on shaky ground, if I can rattle you so easily. Still, now you see why I left the Fire vial in your possession…to avoid the temptation of the power it would give me.’
I was doubly shocked and confused. How could I possibly believe he had any admirable intentions after the confession he had just made? ‘You seem to think very highly of yourself, Sir Devere, but I can assure you that I do not share your delusions. No mortal man could ever rival my love of the one true god.’ I hurried below decks to avoid any further debate and to escape the despicable laughter of the crew, who no doubt ascribed all sorts of disgusting motives to my hasty retreat.
Ever since Devere revealed his birthright to me I have been ailing, for I literally cannot stomach our association when I suspect that he is entertaining impure thoughts about our relationship. The constant rocking of this vessel, caused by rough seas, only accentuates my revulsion.
Why could I not have escaped this world with my fellow Perfecti in the burning fields of Montsègur? I had never thought to have my faith so sorely tested and in such a seductive fashion, nor had I ever imagined that I could find such a test so deeply disturbing. How could I have known that the face of Rex Mundi might haunt one so, his smile and manner so charming while also tormenting. I could accept any other man as being a vessel for the supreme corrupter of the world and the human spirit, but not a son of the blood.
Already I feel his words twisting my thoughts to his own ends and setting me at odds with everything I hold to be true and good. It was disturbing that Devere had made it sound as if an attraction between us was inevitable. The seductive expression on his face as he wove his spell only adds to its potency as the confrontation plays upon my memory.
I have known since birth that the god of good and the god of evil are equally as strong as one another, and that only human determination will confer power to either of them. Unfair as it is that my first personal confrontation with Rex Mundi should be when I am trapped in his company for weeks on end, yet I shall not falter from my vows. As is my duty, I will endeavour instead to dispel the corrupt thoughts from my cousin, so that he might better serve the higher cause.
APRIL 29TH 1244
For the past month there has been little to report. Our voyage has taken us via Sicily and Crete, but I cannot comment on these exotic places because, whilst our ship was in port, I was bound and kept below decks, and forbidden to even think about putting a foot onshore. Needless to say this only added to my animosity toward my abductor.
I have spent most of my time in prayer and silent contemplation and up until yesterday my troubled spirit was feeling far more at peace. Devere has not talked to me on a personal level and, although I sense his attraction in every glance, I am thankful for his distance and I have prayed for his soul.
However, yesterday I saw a side to Devere that has thrown me into confusion once more, and I can no longer think poorly of him or of the crew of this vessel. Yesterday, my abductors became my saviours, and although I know Devere is bound to protect me, I feel I now owe him a debt that I cannot imagine I will ever be able to repay.
Despite the trials and horrors I have witnessed in my thirty years of life, I have never been so terrified for my wellbeing as when a Saracen pirate ship was spotted trailing our vessel when we passed by the islands of Rhodes.
These islands have long been known as a haven for bandits who seek to plunder passing ships, seize their crew and passengers and sell them into slavery.
Our captain knew it was impossible to try and outrun the pirate vessel. His ship was weighted down with a cargo of timber, iron, furs, honey, wax, and wine from Europe for the crusading knights in the Holy Land. He was also carrying ivory and gold, acquired from East Africa long before Devere and I had purchased passage. This cargo was prized by pirates and our only means of escape would be to fight off our attackers, which the captain assured me he and his crew had done many times before.
I was hidden below deck in a crate in the cargo hold. Before nailing down the lid, Devere assured me that he was the finest knight in all of Christendom. At the time I thought he was exaggerating to ease my worry and this must have reflected on my face. ‘How do you think I escaped Molier’s men?’ This gave me food for thought. His claim did seem to support his boast. ‘I shall come and get you out as soon as our adversaries retreat.’
My crate had small slits down the side, through which I could see and draw air. As I lay there in near darkness, waiting for the sound of a skirmish to erupt up on deck, all sorts of dreadful scenarios ran through my mind. What if the ship was taken and the crew killed or enslaved, and our vessel was diverted to some distant port? I might starve to death before I was ever discovered. Worse still, what if I was discovered? I had a fair idea of the physical abuse and horrors that lay in store for me if I fell into the hands of a shipload of pirates. I was not even carrying a weapon with which to end my own life if such a scenario was to unfold. For the first time since we’d met, my heart, will and soul were with Devere—I had never prayed so hard for the life of any man in my entire existence.
The sound of men yelling and the clash of swords set the blood pounding in my throat; soon I could barely hear what transpired on deck over the sound of my terrified heartbeat. I had expected that I would end my days tied to a stake by my enemies, and I had prepared myself for such spiritual persecution—I did not fear the torture devices of the Inquisition, or a death by fire—but sexual abuse was quite another matter. Such a violation is too intimate and personal to bear so easily, and the duration of suffering could prove far longer than that which the Inquisition were prepared to set aside to break a soul.
The hatch to the cargo hold opened and daylight streamed down. Two men lowered themselves onto the highest stack of crates; my heart sank when I realised that they were not members of our crew. ‘She’s loaded all right!’ one yelled up to those on deck and then he jumped down to floor level. Using the tools he wore on his belt, the intruder cracked the lids of a few crates to uncover the contents. He called out his discoveries to his associate, who passed the information to those on deck. The pirate was now only a crate or so away from me, and I was horrified when his attention skipped to my hiding place. He unexpectedly rocked my container, sending me crashing into the far side of it where a nail punctured my skin and, although I tried to smother my reaction, a gasp slipped from my lips.
‘What have we here then?’ he muttered enthusiastically as he cracked the wooden lid and peered in at me. The pirate chuckled and tipped the crate, sending me hurtling onto the floor at his feet. ‘Livestock,’ he advised his accomplice, who gave a cry of approval and jumped down into the hold to assist his crewmate in seizing their acquisition. ‘I don’t believe there is a man beneath that warrior guise,’ the discovering pirate commented as he hauled me to my feet and handed me to his shipmate. ‘Shall we check?’ He grabbed for my trousers and I screamed to give myself strength as I kicked him away from me. The pirate did not appreciate the numbing kick in the jaw my boots dealt him, and he drew his large curved sword. ‘I would be more cooperative if I were you,’ he advised.
‘Death would come as a welcome relief from your company,’ I spat back at him.
‘I wouldn’t dream of killing you, princess. You’ll fetch a high price where we are headed, and provide much entertainment for our crewmates before then. So, perhaps we’ll just maim you a little.’ He raised his sword high and metal suddenly protruded through his round gut, spraying me with blood as he fell dead at my feet.
Devere withdrew his sword and looked to the pirate now holding me captive. ‘Your friends are all leaving…you’d best be quick if you want to join them.’
The pirate didn’t know whether or not to believe Devere’s claim, but he was forced to let go of me in order to draw his sword and I dived for cover as soon as I felt his grip loosen.
I watched the sword fight that ensued, amazed and impressed by Devere’s prowess. He had no sooner finished off his opponent than two more thieves jumped into the hold, and although he fought gallantly, one of the pirates landed my protector a mighty gash to his right side. I feared the battle was lost, but Devere fought on as though I had just imagined the fatal blow. The man who had wounded Devere was finally defeated. A call of retreat sounded out from the pirates above, capturing the attention of the second attacker who made for the hatch. As the intruder jumped up and gripped the entrance to the hold to pull himself up, Devere went after him, but collapsed before he could prevent the pirate from escaping.
And so it is that I have been keeping a constant vigil at Devere’s bedside. I have been bathing his wound and dressing it to prevent infection, but his blood loss has been great and he is pale and weak. If he would only stir from his delirium long enough to partake of some food and wine, I could be more assured of his recovery, but as it is I fear the loss of my guide. As much as I have complained about Devere and been suspicious of his motives, what shall I do without him once I reach Outremer? I have no contacts there and although I am aware of where I need to go, without having travelled to my destination before I could be led to China and be none the wiser.
And so I pray and tend and hope to god that the creator will see fit to return my saviour to good health.
APRIL 30TH 1244
The answer to saving Sir Devere was right in front of me all along—I must have been severely shaken by the pirate attack not to have thought of it sooner. It was only when I considered taking the Star vial that hung around Devere’s neck that I realised the smallest quantity of the Food of Life would restore my guide to perfect health.
I placed a small amount on his tongue, and within moments his colour and vitality had returned. When he came around, the knight seemed both pleased and surprised that I had not let him perish, nor retrieved my property from him.
‘There seemed little point, when you would just take it back again,’ I explained, but in truth, Devere and I felt like a team now and I do believe that I trusted him more than any man. ‘And how shall I ever reach my destination without your aid?’ I pointed out.
‘So your actions were purely professional?’ he teased me, as he attempted to sit upright, yet the man felt so lightheaded from lack of food that he decided to stay put for the time being.
‘Of course,’ I assured him with a smile.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile,’ he commented, ‘it suits you very well.’
I suppressed my delight at his recovery, in case he got the wrong impression, and avoided his amorous mood by checking his wound.
I was startled to find that it had healed completely, without so much as a scar. I, more than anyone, was aware of the great healing power of the Highward Fire-Stone, but I had never used it for such a purpose before.
‘Is it bad?’ Devere queried, upon seeing my dumbfounded expression. He raised himself to view his wound and was as astounded as I was. ‘How long have I been convalescing?’
I swallowed hard and then confessed that he had only been ailing a day.
‘A day!’ He was puzzled but a moment, before he realised the truth. ‘You wasted the Food of Life on me?’ Devere asked, lowering his voice.
‘You would have died otherwise.’ I defended my course of action and stepped away from him as my emotions unexpectedly overpowered me.
The look on his face was most disturbing; it was as if he could see straight through me and into my heart. ‘My Lady du Lac, you are not as cold as—’
His eyes suddenly glazed over and my patient fell back into a horizontal position once more.
‘Devere?’ I approached and knelt beside him, confused as to what was happening.
‘Shhh!’ he urged me, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
At this moment I recognised his behaviour; this was the same reaction that the priestess of my order had when she consumed the Food of Life. I had not thought that the sacred nature of his bloodline might enhance the reaction of the cure I had administered.
He then closed his eyes, disappearing into a euphoric state, and did not move or say a word for several hours.
During this time I arranged for some food to be brought to the captain’s cabin where Devere was recovering, and I passed my time penning an account of recent events.
‘Are you writing about me?’
Devere startled me from my work and I looked aside to find him coherent. ‘Perhaps.’
‘I’ll wager that your account is far more favourable than those you have penned about me over the past few months.’
I ignored his accusation and fetched the tray of food. ‘How are you feeling now?’ I inquired, placing the tray at his bedside.
‘Better than I have in my whole life,’ he said in delight, sliding into an upright position so that he might lean against the carved wooden bedhead to support himself. ‘Or at least I will once I have eaten something substantial.’
I allowed my patient to tuck into his meal and I went back to penning my account. However, my mind was distracted as I was dying to know what Devere had divined over the past few hours.
‘You could just ask me what you wish to know, although I’m not sure that you will like the response,’ he commented, as he finished up the meal and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
His words were somewhat shocking. Could he read my mind now? I had found that I possessed this ability temporarily after partaking of the Highward Fire-Stone at sacred rites. ‘What have you foreseen?’ I ventured to ask despite his warning, which had only heightened my curiosity.
‘I believe there might be another reason why you and I have been thrown together for this quest,’ he began openly, and then seemed undecided about how to proceed. ‘You feel this reason at a soul level, but because of your beliefs you choose to ignore it.’
I stood, shocked and offended by his implication. ‘Don’t be vile.’
‘See, you do feel it.’ He casually drove home his point, and I felt compelled to leave his presence and not be drawn into his seductive argument.
‘I thought that we had grown beyond this subject matter.’ I collected my writing materials and made for the cabin door. ‘It is very disappointing to be proven wrong.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Devere added, a little spitefully. ‘Our love shall never be realised. Not so much as a single kiss shall you ever give me. I know that to submit would destroy everything you have worked your whole life to achieve and I will take steps to curtail my feelings and bring them in check. However…you will be the death of me.’
The claim brought me to a halt, and I did an about-face to assess how serious he was.
‘That inevitability has been made heartbreakingly plain, I’m afraid.’
The emotions that fired up my being made me want to cry, but why? Was it the sheer abandon I heard in his tone, which seemed to indicate he had nothing left to live for and thus death scared him not? Was it because my heart was in sympathy with his claims, and I dared not admit it, even to myself? Was it that I feared Rex Mundi was just playing games with my conscience and I was falling into his trap? ‘If you feel anything at all for me, you shall never speak of such things to me ever again,’ I said. I didn’t want to have to hate Devere, for I did not. But I could not consider his feelings about me either.
‘I would not have spoken of them now, but you asked,’ he replied.
This conversation was just exhausting, for indeed I had. But could I trust him never to broach the subject again?
‘I shall be as a brother to you from now on,’ he assured me before I even had the chance to try and phrase my question.
‘Very good.’ I took a deep breath to calm myself. ‘I shall hold you to your word.’ I opened the door and stepped into the corridor that led to the galley and deck.
‘Yes, you shall,’ he uttered as I closed the door behind me and leant on it for strength. Why was every word he said a drain on me, even when there was no sexual connotation attached?
Our association during this mission is never going to work, I fear, when it seems that even I cannot keep my focus and faith. Has god abandoned me, or is it that my heart has abandoned my god?
MAY 23RD 1244
My spirits are soaring. Off the port bow, as I write, the Principality of Antioch is within sight. I am excited beyond words that today I shall set foot on dry land.
Despite my previous fears, Devere has kept his vow to me, and has been more amiable, in a brotherly sense, than ever before. Our conversation on the night of his recovery could have been a dream, for he has never referred to it again. It is almost as if he has forgotten it entirely, for there has been nothing implied in his manner or words which would indicate that he is repressing feelings for me. Devere did say that he would take steps to bring his feelings under control, although how he managed this, or quite what he had meant by it, was a mystery to me. I was glad that whatever he was doing seemed to be working.
I began to believe that my knight’s prediction of ‘a relationship between us never being realised’ was quite true, and so I felt far more at ease in Devere’s company. I had become fond enough of my travelling companion to hope that his second prediction, that I would be the death of him, would not be proven true either. I have to admit that I wondered if one prediction related to the other. And if I bestowed the kiss he had said I would never give him, would that prove all his predictions false?
I should not be thinking such thoughts; perhaps the excitement of the day is getting to me.
MAY 28TH 1244
I have been a fool and I feel I am a disgrace to my order. Thankfully, my god brought me to my senses before I could shame myself and it is only now, days after the event, that I have found the courage to confess my folly.
On our first night in port, Devere found us very comfortable lodgings in an inn frequented by rich merchants visiting Antioch’s seaport of St Simeon. I cannot express how good it felt to bathe after months at sea, or how wonderful it felt to sleep in a room all by myself.
As I lay down in bed that night I could still feel the rocking of the boat. Devere had warned that this would be the case and that it would be several days before I would again feel comfortable on solid land. After some time I did manage to fall asleep, but my dreams were most disturbing.
I have never before dreamed of being intimate with a man and the vision was so vivid that I believed the event was truly taking place. I felt no guilt, doubt or inhibition in the act, only relief and elation beyond any earthly joy I had ever known. Before my expectations could be fully satisfied I awoke in a sweat, and was disappointed to find myself alone and more tormented than I had ever been. To add to my vexation I knew there was but a wall between myself and the man I desired so desperately. I wasn’t myself, for there was no reasoning with the emotions that had been set into play by my dreaming. Nothing seemed to matter beyond making my vision a reality.
In the corridor beyond my quarters not a soul could be seen; thus, I did not bother covering my clean long-shirt. I just crept silently to Devere’s quarters next door and quietly opened the door.
A very sobering sight met my eyes. Devere was as naked as the local woman beneath him in whom he was taking deep pleasure.
I probably would have been wise to slip out of there unannounced, but not only had Devere lied to me, he had betrayed the code of his order as well. ‘How could you?’ I accused, so furious that I ignored my better judgement.
Devere looked up at me, almost as if he had expected the intrusion. ‘It was easy,’ he said, not bothering to withdraw from his conquest to speak with me. ‘I just closed my eyes and thought of you.’
That was the last straw. The coolness of his response made me so ashamed of my own intention that I felt ill and quickly returned to my quarters, where I was compelled to empty the contents of my stomach into my bedpan. I praised the Lord, for what I had borne witness to had brought me to my senses and had prevented me from betraying my holy vows. But my heart pained me with such an agony, as I had never felt before, that I wished I had a dagger in order to cut it from the body it had nearly betrayed.
I had not cried since I was a small child who
knew no better than to desire the mundane pleasures of this world,
and I despised Devere for my regression. I prayed to god to be
merciful and deliver me from this man’s company. My prayers and
tears only subsided when exhaustion finally relieved me of
consciousness.
The next morning there was a pounding on my door—I suspected it was Devere come to fetch me and I dreaded the thought of facing him. I could feel how swollen were my eyes and face, and I could not have been more ashamed and disappointed with myself.
‘I am not dressed yet,’ I snapped. ‘Please come back later.’ I splashed my face with water from the washbowl and fished for the cotton drying cloth.
‘My Lady du Lac. It is I, Sir Christian Molier. Are you unharmed?’
My heart shot into my throat. I should have been relieved at this turn of events, and I was, and yet all I could think about was Devere. What would become of him if he was captured? Had they caught him?
‘Yes, my lord.’ I hurried to dress myself and answer the door.
‘Is Devere in there with you?’ he queried.
I unlatched the door and opened it. ‘No, my lord. I believe Sir Devere had plans that necessitated the taking of his own quarters last night.’
‘Then I must be doubly grateful to find you safe and unharmed.’ The French knight bowed to me dutifully. ‘The innkeeper has told us that Devere took the room next door, and yet he no longer seems to be there.’ Molier suddenly hauled me into the corridor, and his men stormed in to search my quarters.
‘Will you not accept my word?’ I took offence at being startled and manhandled in this way.
‘A thousand apologies, my lady.’ Molier let me go and explained himself. ‘I feared the rogue might be holding you hostage.’
Obviously, the search of my room failed to produce Devere and I breathed easier when Molier seemed to lose interest in pursuing him. ‘Are you still in possession of your sacred charge?’ he queried. Although I was inclined to, I thought better of telling Molier the truth for fear that it would give him an incentive to pursue Devere. The prophecy that I would be the death of Devere added force to my decision to lie. ‘Yes, I still have it.’
When Molier had his answer he wasted no time in getting me to the ship he’d acquired for the purpose of sailing down the coast to St Jean d’Acre in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.
That is where I now find myself, on the final leg of my journey to Outremer. At St Jean d’Acre, Molier informs me, we shall find all we need to begin our inland journey into the Sinai.
I don’t know what I shall do about the lie I told Molier on Devere’s behalf, but even now I feel my betrayer is keeping pace with our party. Unfortunately, I believe I have not seen the last of Albray Devere, but if he chooses to pursue this quest his death will not be on my conscience.
It seems rather appropriate that this parchment on which I have been recording events since the fall of Montsègur is now coming to an end. A new start is needed, one that complements my new perspective, which is this: never trust or feel for any man in this world more than the god whom I serve. My beliefs and oath shall never be threatened again…that I do vow.