I differ from them in this, and have for some time. I realise that now. Pride is at the root of error, it is true, but for one reason: it drives away all charity. How can we truly know who is doomed to eternal damnation? We cannot. We cannot presume to know—or to act. Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
Martin may yet endure God’s vengeance. So too may Berengaria Donas. But since they have committed no great crimes here on earth, I would hesitate to condemn them to a secular punishment. They have not killed anyone. They are not thieves. Nor are they given to lying, or cheating, or any form of violence. Their sin is rooted in a gentleness of spirit. Wherefore, because the heart is God’s domain, I will judge them only by their acts. As should Bernard Gui.
When Martin looked at me, and asked his simple question, I was for a moment quite nonplussed. I could not think how to explain why Na Berengaria should be good, when she was at the same time sinful. So I said only, ‘All things work together for good to them that love God,’ repeating a phrase that I had once heard preached by a Dominican in the priory of Toulouse. Then I kissed Martin on both cheeks, to acknowledge my indebtedness. And I sent him away with Blaise Bouer.
Now that I have reflected on the matter, I know what I should have said. I should have said that there is no perfect goodness here on earth—but that where the spirit has no guile, and the heart no hardness, iniquity must surely yield a small place to virtue. Furthermore, I should have said one more thing, which is this: that where love is, must also reside the Holy Spirit. For the fruit of the Spirit is love. And what harm can justly be inflicted on the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit?
Perhaps, at the Last Trump, Berengaria Donas will be judged as one of the goats. But if by chance she is a lamb, how then can I lead her to the slaughter? God has chosen to gather the lambs with his strong arm, and carry them to His bosom. How can his lowly servant do any less? Is it not my duty to protect those in need of protection?
This is what I will say to Martin, when next I see him. And God grant that events will not conspire to withhold from him a better understanding of why I have sacrificed so much for his sake.
Extracts from the confession of
Blaise Bouer, tailor of Narbonne
c. 1325
I first met the man calling himself Helié Seguier four years ago, on the feast of St Benedict. It was in Caularia Square, where I had gone to watch seventeen Beguins burned at the stake. Here I saw Helié collecting remains from the ashes. He was wearing a scarlet cloak and handsome Spanish boots. I noticed little else about him at the time, except that he was small.
Suspecting that he was a fellow believer, I approached and asked if he had known the woman whose remains he had just collected. He replied that he had not, but that he would have wished to. His voice was so soft that I could not place his accent. Because I was afraid that agents of Jean de Beaune might be watching, I went away, wondering how I might arrange a more private discussion.
Some days later, my friend Guillaume Ademar saw Helié Seguier on the streets, and followed him home. Berengaria Donas then went to visit him. She told me afterwards that he was undoubtedly a follower of Pierre Olivi, and that she had asked him to deliver some parchment to her shop. So I next saw him at Na Berengaria’s shop.
I was with Na Berengaria and Guillelma Roger when he made his delivery.
I remember how, on that occasion, he seemed very suspicious of us all. This made me feel confident of his honesty. Moreover, he did not look dangerous. His demeanour was meek; his pallor suggested such a lack of blood and heat that I assumed he must be quite timorous, and was reassured. I cannot recall his individual features. I believe that they were small, like his stature. He kept his eyes cast down for the most part.
At the meeting, he told us that he was from Carcassonne, and had been a supporter of the Spiritual Franciscans. He appeared to be greatly afraid of the inquisitor Jean de Beaune. Because of this, I did not admire him. I considered him weak. Though he piously venerated our relics, and donated parchment to Na Berengaria, I decided that he was not a man with the strength to undergo martyrdom. Also, I resented his wealth. He must have been quite rich, though not as rich as the Donas family.
Helié then came to our next Sunday gathering at Na Berengaria’s shop. He brought money, and his own relic. Na Berengaria, Guillelma Roger, Guillaume Ademar and Pierre (Perrin) Espere-en-Dius were present as well. They welcomed Helié warmly. Berengar Blanchi was not there. Nor was Imbert Rubei.
After that, I did not see Helié again until Good Friday. On this occasion he brought with him a letter of summons from the inquisitor Bernard Gui. (At least, that is what it appeared to be.) He also brought his apprentice—though I still do not know if Helié had ordered his apprentice to follow him. I understand now that the man calling himself Helié Seguier was enormously cunning, like a fox. But I was unaware of this four years ago.
Helié’s apprentice was caught hiding outside Na Berengaria’s shop. The boy’s name was Martin; I do not know his father’s name. He professed to be a believer. Again, I cannot tell if he truly was. When Martin was brought into the shop, Helié Seguier remained calm. That is why I am uncertain as to whether the boy was following his master’s instructions or not.
The rest of us were more concerned about Helié’s letter of summons. It was decided that he must be smuggled out of Narbonne as soon as possible. I was afraid that, if arrested, he would reveal all. I did not believe that he could withstand an inquisition. So I agreed with Na Berengaria that she should consult Imbert Rubei quickly, concerning the method of Helié’s escape. Looking back, I am sure that Helié contributed little to the discussion. He was usually quiet. It was easy to forget that he was present sometimes.
The next day, Na Berengaria came to my house. I had never seen her so anxious. She told me that Helié Seguier was an inquisitorial spy—and that Jacques Bonet had been an agent of Jean de Beaune. She also told me that Father Sejan Alegre had been aware of this for some time, and that Imbert Rubei might also know it.
At first I did not believe her. She had to persuade me that Father Sejan had conspired with a Dominican to forge the letter of summons. She was afraid that, together, they might have killed Jacques Bonet. I scoffed at this notion; I thought it preposterous. But then she explained to me about the blessed Pierre’s bones. I had never been told about his bones. It offended me that I had never been told about them, or about the suspicions that were held about Helié Seguier. But when I heard that the bones had been bought from a Dominican, I understood why this monk would stop at nothing to conceal his part in the exchange. For Dominicans are violent men, servants of the Whore of Babylon, and drunk with the blood of martyrs.
I do not know why Helié Seguier had suddenly decided to reveal everything to Na Berengaria. She thought that he had been touched by the Holy Spirit, but I am not so sure. It is my opinion that he was moved by unchaste feelings for Na Berengaria, who is very beautiful, though not submissive. Whatever the reason, he had devised a plot for the capture of Father Sejan’s Dominican friend. And it was this plot that Na Berengaria related to me.
She had already arranged with Imbert Rubei that Helié should hide in her vineyard, and escape over the city wall that night. (It was simply a matter of bribing one of the guards, whom I had befriended during my spell in the militia.) This seemed like a good enough arrangement. But according to Helié, he would not then be concealed on a barge, as Imbert Rubei had promised. Instead he would very probably be slaughtered by the Dominican, who would wait on the other side of the wall. Helié therefore suggested that we lay a trap. He wanted to ambush the Dominican, and make him tell the truth about Jacques Bonet, among other things. Helié suggested that if Martin was sent over the wall first, it would provide enough distraction to allow us to surprise the Dominican, and overwhelm him.
I must admit that I had my doubts about this plan, and its purpose. To begin with, I was not completely convinced, in my heart of hearts, that Jacques Bonet was dead—or that
Father Sejan had conspired with a mysterious friar to kill him. I worried that Imbert Rubei would appear at the base of the city wall, to help Helié Seguier, and put us all to shame.
Furthermore, I despised Helié. I thought him not only dishonest, but weak and cowardly. I could not imagine that he would be of any use whatsoever if by chance he was correct, and we were forced into a struggle. These were my feelings when Na Berengaria acquainted me with recent events, on the morning of Easter Saturday. I asked her why we could not approach Imbert frankly, and demand that he reveal all. Na Berengaria told me that, just before she had left him, Helié had advised against being honest with our brothers. He said that we would thereby lose our advantage, and perhaps suffer as a result.
I disliked such duplicity. I thought it unworthy of us. Though I wanted to help Na Berengaria, I was a reluctant confederate.
At my next meeting with Helié, however, all my doubts were swept away. This meeting occurred at his house, and Martin was also present. It is difficult to describe the change that I witnessed in Helié Seguier when I spoke to him. His meekness was entirely gone. He spoke fluently and firmly; his manner conveyed complete assurance, for all that he was as small and pale as ever. When he told me that the Dominican would have no mercy, I believed him. I could hardly do otherwise, when he remained so calm, and fixed me with such a hard, level gaze.
His eyes were green. I remember that now. They were green like seawater.
It soon became clear to me that he was quick-witted. I heard him thinking aloud, and was impressed by his cleverness. Where once I would have scoffed at his advice concerning weapons and concealment, I realised almost at once that any counsel he chose to give me would be well worth following. So I agreed with everything he said. And I promised to meet him at the Royal Gate, after the bells had rung at the end of nones.
Then I left the house, taking Martin with me. I led him straight to Na Berengaria, who conducted both of us to her vineyard. Here Martin was concealed in a kind of hut. After that, I went about collecting wood, as Helié had requested. Na Berengaria gave me permission to gather up vine stakes, vine branches and faggots. She helped me to make up two large bundles, which she undertook to throw over the wall at the end of nones. Guillelma Roger agreed to carry one of these bundles. We had no choice but to inform her of our plan, since she was at the Donas house when I arrived there with Martin. But we told nobody else.
At the end of nones, I met with Helié Seguier at the Royal Gate. He had recommended that I wear dull colours, and I did. He himself was dressed in grubby greys and browns, with a hood thrown over his head. His face (what you could see of it) was heavily begrimed, as if to prevent it from shining white in the dusk. I could not see his knife, though he assured me that it was concealed on his person.
My own sword had been secreted in a bundle of firewood. Instead of trying to smuggle it through the city gates, I retrieved the weapon once we had reached the right olive grove, and had discovered the two bundles. Though one bundle had broken apart upon hitting the ground, the other was still tied tightly around my sword. Helié Seguier seemed to admire this ploy. He even commended me for it.
Much to our relief, there was a kind of depression or trench in the earth not far from the proposed site of Martin’s descent. By piling up wood over this gully, we were able to create for ourselves a good hiding place. We had to work quickly, not wishing to be accosted by any passing traveller, labourer or militia guard. But we were fortunate. Not a soul came anywhere near us before night fell, by which time we were safely lodged in our little den, with its carefully constructed rear exit.
I do not know how long we waited there. The sun set and the moon rose, during which time Helié Seguier uttered not a single word. He barely moved, as far as I can remember. When darkness engulfed us, I almost began to wonder if he was there beside me. Even his breathing was inaudible. When at last we heard the sound of footsteps, however, Helié put his mouth to my ear.
‘There,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’
Through the spy hole that we had fashioned, I could see a moving light. This was not a lamp or candle but a lantern, and it was soon set upon the ground. In its glow, I could discern a cloaked and hooded figure. The base of the city wall was visible as well. So was one end of an unfurled rope, which had been dropped from the high ramparts.
No one else could be seen, though, and for that I was thankful. I had begun to doubt Helié Seguier’s ability to bring down any man by himself. Already he had demonstrated a want of muscular strength during the construction of our hiding place. Despite his dogged tirelessness, he had not much force. Or so it seemed to me at that time.
When the hooded figure suddenly drew close to the base of the wall, and the rope started to twitch about, Helié gave my sleeve a sharp tug. That was our agreed signal. I let him go first. It was Helié’s belief that, should a misplaced step announce his approach, our quarry would perhaps hesitate to flee before such a puny opponent. He might even attack Helié, if unaware that I was nearby. Above all, it was important that this wicked man should not be allowed to escape.
Therefore Helié went first. He did not stumble. I myself took a slightly different path, skirting the pool of light shed by the lantern. We closed in on our quarry’s flanks, surprising him completely. He was alerted to my proximity before Helié’s because I had more weight, and my tread was heavier. But when he spun around, brandishing his knife, my sword was already aimed at his heart.
With Helié’s dagger suddenly pricking his back, he was given no choice. He had to surrender. And he did, relinquishing his knife to my care. As Helié had predicted, he was a Dominican lay brother, recognisable by his garb. He was also as ugly as a breeding sow, all bristles and dewlaps. Nevertheless, because he was so big, I watched him closely.
Helié could not give the man his undivided attention at first, for Martin soon reached us, and had to be helped down from his rope. Helié did that, while I watched the Dominican. Even in the poor light, I could see the man’s face turning red.
‘Would you rob a servant of St Dominic?’ he demanded of me. ‘Do you think I have money to steal? Look! I have nothing!’
‘That is not what I have heard, Brother Henri,’ said Helié, pushing his apprentice behind him.
At this, the Dominican swung around. Although he had not recognised me, he did recognise Helié. I was afraid that he might attack, and placed the tip of my sword between his shoulder blades as Helié fell back a step. But the Dominican was too astonished to act decisively.
‘You!’ he said.
‘Are you surprised?’ said Helié. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’
The Dominican then recovered his wits. He said that he had been expecting Helié, and that he had been asked by Imbert Rubei to conduct both Helié and his apprentice to a place of safety. Whereupon Helié said, ‘With a knife in your hand? I think not.’
The Dominican protested that it was necessary to defend oneself outside the walls at night. He seemed very angry. Helié addressed him a calm voice, saying that he was in possession of all the facts. ‘You,’ he said, ‘were the true author of that summons from Bernard Gui. It was written after Sejan discovered that I was looking for Jacques Bonet. You were perhaps hoping that I would come to the priory gate, as requested, from whence you could conduct me to a quiet place and kill me there. Do you think me a fool? I know everything. Everything. Except the fate of Jacques Bonet.’
The Dominican started to bluster, and shake his head. He was trembling, either with fear or fury. He said that Helié was mad; no one was intending to kill him! Helié replied that it was pointless to protest any further. He knew about Loup, and the bones, and the letter. All he wanted to know now was what had befallen Jacques.
‘Let me assure you that I do not intend to inform on you,’ he added. ‘It is my intention to flee from Narbonne, and go into hiding—as I have already told Na Berengaria. So neither you nor the Beguins have anything to fear from me. But I think that, if we are to help
each other in outwitting the inquisitors, we must be truthful. I myself have thrown aside all pretence, Brother Henri. You should perhaps do the same.’ Looking up into the Dominican’s face, Helié’s own expression became strangely subtle. ‘You will find that I am well acquainted with the methods employed by inquisitors of heretical depravity,’ he said. ‘It is clear to me that you must fear, above all, any sort of inquiry into the fate of Pierre Olivi’s bones. Now—if the subject ever should come to the notice of Jean de Beaune, there are certain things that can be done in your defence. One need not bribe an inquisitor, you know. It is much cheaper to bribe a notary. Or a nuncio. If the registers are incomplete, there can be no conviction.’
By this I judged Helié to mean that he could give the Dominican advice on corrupting or defacing the inquisitorial records. And I thought at the time that I should very much like to share this information, which would be useful both to me and to my brothers in Christ. But I said nothing. For Helié had instructed me not to speak.
The Dominican hesitated. He seemed to be in two minds. Helié then proceeded to explain how he had identified the letter of summons as a forgery. Though I cannot remember exactly what he said, I do recall being impressed by the sharpness of his intellect. Still, however, the Dominican remained silent. So Helié adopted another tactic.
‘Perhaps you distrust my motives,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you believe that I am trying to entrap you all. If that is the case, then let me explain why I am here—and not in Toulouse, making my report to Bernard Gui.’ He pointed at Martin. ‘This boy is my apprentice, and my heir. He has been infected with heretical opinions. If any one of the Beguins is ever interrogated, then his name will be mentioned. Whereupon Martin, too, will be arrested. I cannot allow that to happen, Brother. I will do everything in my power to prevent it.’
No doubt Helié was lying, for he was a good liar—as I have since learned. But at the time, I was persuaded. So was the boy, who gazed at him with frank adoration. That admiring look must have been all the Dominican needed, by way of proof.