My Beloved (15 page)

T
he middle bailey was crowded with men-at-arms atop their horses. Most of Langlinais was there to bid them farewell, despite the fact their destination was secret, the very nature of their journey hidden.

Juliana remained on the top step. It was barely past dawn, and the sky was beginning to lighten. An air of expectancy seemed to grip the castle and its people. Had it been such when Sebastian had left Langlinais for his round of tourneys?

She sought to find him among the milling men, looked for his distinctive black robe. He was nowhere to be found.

Grazide bubbled along beside her. “Have you ever seen such fine men, my lady? And all of them Langlinais-born and raised. Why, I knew most of them when they were still babes. And bathed their bottoms myself. That one,” she said, pointing to a sandy-haired man standing alongside Jerard, “was my Ned's best friend in childhood days. His sister is now my own dear daughter. But that is enough about me. We should get you on your way. I shall miss you, my dear. Fare you well, and God keep you until we meet again.”

Juliana bent and accepted the hug from her attendant, returned it in equal measure. In truth, she had grown fond of Grazide. Indeed, it was impossible not to like the voluble woman.

She straightened up and smiled, looking beyond Grazide to the crowded bailey. It was then that she saw him.

There had been few enough times when her breath had been taken from her. Juliana could count three occasions when she'd been left speechless by events. The occasion of meeting Sebastian for the first time was one; the day she learned his secret another. And then this moment.

“Oh look, my lady, it's him. And mounted on Faeren, too. Isn't he a sight?”

The bailey was lit by glowing orange rays of a slow-rising sun. An ebony horse, his bridle and harness adorned with silver, his saddle dotted with silver insets, danced in the light. His rider effortlessly controlled him, even smiled with the exuberance of one who has been denied a pleasure for too long. His grin flashed in the morning sun as bright as the armor he wore, silvered chain mail that stretched from neck to wrist to ankle, topped with a sleeveless crimson tunic. His sword belt was heavily embroidered in red and silver, and the weapon it held bore a ruby embedded in the center of its hilt.

Sebastian of Langlinais.

This was the man who'd ridden into battle, the knight who'd won so many tourneys. A young warrior with tumbled brown hair that looked gold and red in the sun. A man she'd never before seen. He laughed and she felt her heart fall to her toes to see him this way. No monk wrapped in piety, no man sternly intent upon isolation. A glimpse, perhaps, of the man who'd dwelled side by side with her spirit,
the one who'd stolen her heart even as he'd invaded her mind.

Jerard called out to him, and Sebastian responded with a laughing answer. The words they spoke were inconsequential, the meaning unnecessary. The spell that enchanted her grew stronger. At that moment, Sebastian let Faeren have his head, and the horse seemed to fly. Faeren became a winged creature, one crafted of myth and magic. Juliana felt as if she were witnessing an event that would not come again, that Sebastian and Faeren represented all that was good and noble and fine about the world, but that its nobility and shining purpose was both misunderstood and destined to fade.

It was not, she thought, as she watched them race through the north gate, necessary for a man to be pure and virtuous. It was enough for him to wish to be. The knights who traveled on crusade did so with an honorable intent, and had therefore achieved their purpose the moment they left home and hearth behind them. It was not as important to gain back Jerusalem as to wish themselves better men. Yet, even now, men fought and died for ownership of a plot of land, to wrest control while not understanding it was the improvement of themselves that was better sought.

Was such a thought heresy?

A glint of sunlight struck Sebastian's chain mail, a flash of light perfect in its moment. He reined in Faeren, stood upon the hill looking down at Langlinais, a faint figure with hand raised. An odd thought, one that made her take a few steps forward, as if she might be able to reach out and touch him. It was as if they were closer now than they had ever been before. Separated by distance, but not by inclination. Could she feel his thoughts or were they only
echoes of her own wishes? They buffeted her as if they were butterflies in a spring breeze.
Come back to me, Sebastian
.

Do not fear, Juliana
.

I will be with you
.

Forever
.

She wanted to weep. Instead, she held the memory of this moment tight to her, vowed to forever remember the sight of him, whole and happy.

“My lady?”

She blinked, pulled from her reverie by Grazide's concern. Jerard stood beside her. How long had they been watching her?

Jerard bowed and preceded her to the wagon in which she was to travel. She turned and bid good-bye to Grazide again, then climbed inside.

She did not look in Sebastian's direction again.

 

It occurred to Sebastian that keeping Juliana with him might be the best way to protect her. He fully expected there to be treachery ahead, but it had taken a dream, a twisted vision of slashing swords and screaming horses for him to realize that leaving her behind would expose her to more danger than taking her with him.

The Templars' genius lay in political maneuvering. It would be easier for them to use Juliana as hostage to force him to relinquish the Cathar treasure than it would be to lay siege to Langlinais or to capture and torture him.

Not that he thought she would remain behind, even if he'd decided to travel without her. There had been anger on her face, and a surprising stubbornness. He would not have been surprised if she had announced that she would follow him regardless of his decision. But there had been no need for that.
She'd burrowed past his will with her question: “
What if you've left a leper at Langlinais?
” It was a very real fear. But was that the only reason he'd decided to take her with him? Or because he cherished the time he spent with her? He knew the answer even as he cursed his own foolishness.

Until they reached the coast, Juliana would be able to travel in a wagon that would offer her some degree of comfort. After that, she would need to ride with Jerard, the condition of her hands making it impossible for her to hold the reins of her own mount.

By his calculations, it would take them a few weeks to reach Montvichet. And every mile of their journey would be eagerly watched, he was certain.

He looked to where the horses stood, to beyond where Jerard was speaking with another of the men-at-arms. There were but twelve of them on this journey. A small enough number to embark on a mission of such danger. He made the signal to mount, and wives were kissed and children hugged.

The most trusted men-at-arms had been left to guard Langlinais. A young man who had been selected to train with Jerard was given the task of tallying the harvests, a duty he looked terrified of assuming. He bid farewell to the people of Langlinais with a wave and a smile. Sebastian rode from the bailey, and through the gates of Langlinais.

He looked back once, to glance at Langlinais one final time. It gleamed whitely in the dawn light. His home. He had left here once for Montvichet, and his life had been forever changed. What would this pilgrimage bring him? He turned, focused not on all his myriad worries, but on the journey ahead, to a place he had never wanted to see again, even in his dreams.

“W
hy Montvichet?” Juliana asked.

He turned his head, thinking that it was time the question had finally come. They had stopped for the midday meal, and she sat beside him.

He broke off a piece of bread from his loaf. All of his food was kept carefully separated, a precaution that seemed advisable. He chewed idly as he concentrated on his answer.

He drew up one leg, propped his wrist upon it, looked homeward toward Langlinais. “There is something there I find I need.” It was the easiest answer.

“
We are betrayed and are dying. The siege has lasted too many months and we cannot survive much longer. In the love I bore you, I beg of you to come
.”

The words Magdalene had written him were emblazoned in his memory. He had not been in time to save her. To save any of them. Yet, he'd discovered that she had not summoned him in order to be rescued, but for another purpose.

His life had changed from that day. His beliefs, sacrosanct and immutable, had been challenged. Even today, he did not know if he accepted what he
had found, or simply recognized its potential for destruction.

Juliana said nothing else, but there was a small frown on her face. Was she displeased with his answer? She was looking beyond him, to the sight of the Terne curving like a silver snake in the distance. The earth fell away to the Langlinais valley. Although a fine bright day, a mist seemed to shield the valley, muting the colors until everything blended together, a harmony of nature's hues. The deep green coloring of the trees was borrowed by the tall grasses, passed along to the ground covering beneath the huge oaks. It was as if the world was seen through a gauze veil. A chorus of birds sang in greeting, a sweet melody that signaled the end of summer.

Tendrils of hair at her temples were ruffled by the summer breeze. A touch of sun had tinted the tip of her nose delicately pink. It became more and more difficult to look at her. His own mortality vied with his desire, and there were days in which he toyed too often with the thought of touching her. If only to press his hand against her cheek. His worse nature railed at him, spoke words of temptation into his ear. What would it hurt? She had already touched him, after all. He forced the thought from his mind.

“You do not appear frightened of heights from here, Juliana.”

“In truth, I am tired of being afraid, Sebastian. Fear has given me nothing but more fear. I have climbed to the top of a tower and nearly fallen into a river. Perhaps it was those experiences that have made me brave.” Juliana turned her head and smiled at him.

She extended her hands before her. She traveled
with no attendants. Their journey was one that dictated as much speed and secrecy as possible. He'd watched her unwrap the bandages earlier, had held himself still so as not flinch as her hand emerged. Some of the larger cuts would always leave scars, but they bore no signs of putrefaction. He had wanted to help her smooth the salve over the cuts, but of course he could not. Instead, he watched as Jerard helped her now, bound her hand again with fresh linen.

“You might be able to use your left hand, Juliana if your right will not be flexible enough to hold a quill.”

She sent him a quick smile. “There are those who think that people who use their left hand are creatures of the devil, Sebastian. Have you not read the verse? ‘
Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels
'.”

“Do you ascribe to that thought?”

She didn't speak, only stared at her hands. When she lifted her head and looked at him, her face was somber. “Nothing I used to think seems right, Sebastian.”

If she questioned her beliefs before, what he would tell her would only add to her confusion. Why did he suddenly think it important to do so? Because he wanted someone to know what Montvichet meant to him. And who better than a woman who smiled at him and in whose eyes there was a measure of sorrow to equal his?

“Montvichet is a Cathar stronghold,” he said. “At least it was before a siege nearly leveled it. It's a place like no other I've seen. It's perched high atop the highest mountain in the region. The only way to reach it a winding road, and then a wooden bridge.”

“It sounds as if it could have withstood a siege, Sebastian.”

“It did.” He tossed the remaining scraps of bread to the gathering birds and watched as two squabbled over a piece of crust. “For nearly two years. An English crusader by the name of De Rutger received the blessing of the Pope to subdue the Cathars. I doubt De Rutger was as interested in the fact that they were heretics as much as he was the rumors of the treasure the Cathars possessed. He set up four catapults at the base of the hill and began the siege.”

He stared off into the distance. He had witnessed brutality and horror on the battlefield, and in a way was inured to it. But the carnage at Montvichet had been different. It had been less a religious dispute than a scene of unspeakable cruelty. “The villagers who were not Cathar surrendered almost immediately, but the siege lasted nearly two years. They had water from their well, and were able to get enough food to survive.”

She turned to watch him, her hands resting on her knees.

“The men surrendered, finally, in order to spare the women and children. They were given an opportunity to recant their religion. They did not.” He kept his voice purposefully without emotion. “The Cathar women and children were treated to the sight of the men being burned alive at the stake. The location of Montvichet made such a spectacle almost impossible to avoid.”

He heard her gasp.

“But that is not the worst of it,” he said, knowing that he should stop. Knowing he would not. “The women held out under the siege for six more months. Finally, the walls were breached and they were overrun. Three hundred women and children
were marched down that mountain, Juliana. They were not even given the opportunity to recant. They were simply huddled in a circle and their clothing set ablaze.”

“Is that what you meant, when you said the Templars made you witness?” Her voice was a bare whisper, so faint that the drone of a nearby bee was louder.

He turned to look at her. “De Rutger traveled with Templar guards,” he said somberly. “His siege of Montvichet could not have been accomplished without the complicity of the Order. Besides, it is wise to suspect any group with such puissance. Power feeds upon itself. A man might hide his thirst for it there. I know my brother does.”

He looked out over the vista, wondered if he could say the rest. He'd never spoken of it.

“I arrived a day later.” The square had been solemnly silent. The villagers would not venture from their homes, and Montvichet's attackers had vanished with the dawn, as if ashamed to be seen in the light of a new day. Only the smoldering ashes and blackened forms still huddled together attested to the horror of their deed.

“Why were you even there, Sebastian?”

“I had been summoned by Magdalene.”

He glanced at her. Her bandaged hands were at her mouth as if to stifle her gasp. Even now, he wished to comfort her, but he could not. There was nothing he could say to ease the horror of the truth.

“I have two abiding hatreds, Juliana. One is stupidity. Those who will not learn despite their ability to do so. And the other is deliberate cruelty. I saw both at Montvichet.”

“Is that how she died, Sebastian?” Had her face grown more pale?

He smiled. “I was told she led the march down the mountain.” He could almost see her, her hair blowing in the wind, dark but lightened by silver strands as it had been for all the time he'd known her. Her face would have been composed, that smile playing on her lips. Her eyes would have been shining, and there would have been firmness and resolve in her step.

He stood, called for Jerard so that he might assist Juliana in rising. Their rest was over. So, too, his recollections of the past.