“Kill them all! God will recognise his own!”

Introduction

“My Lord, as God is my witness, I am innocent!” Garbag’s despairing cry echoes in my mind as I start out of the dream and lie trembling in the dark. How many times have I not had the same dream and woken to his anguished cries reverberating through Fontfroide’s makeshift court? How many times have I not seen Raymond die before my eyes as he helplessly watched Cistercian canonists set about trapping our innocent and ignorant varlet ? …And wept myself to sleep again, playing the scene over and over in my mind?

To reassure myself that I am in my own bedroom I walk to the casement, feeling the cool flagstones beneath my bare feet. The full moon is hanging in the mid-summer-night sky like a huge overripe pumpkin. Yes I nod; it is June in the year of our Lord 1209 and I must go to sleep because tomorrow will be a busy day.

But as I close my eyes I see Garbag, gyved in chains, terrified and shivering enter the refractory, his eyes searching for Raymond. He sees me, I smile and nod and he straightens up, reassured by my presence. Then he spies Raymond and relaxes. His liege lord is here; his liege lord is bound before God to protect him. He is safe. He stands behind the bar and waits with the timeless patience of a servile.

The Papal Legate and Head of the Cistercian Order, Arnauld Aimery arrives followed by several monks and learned canonists. Two of the party detach themselves and I recognise Dominic de Guzman and Caesarius of Heisterbach. It looks as if Dominic will appear for Garbag as his defence counsel and Caesarius will act as the prosecutor.

Dominic’s role heartens me as I have always found him gentle and loving but cannot for the life of me understand why Caesarius is the prosecutor as he is a historian, not a lawyer. With much pomp and preening Aimery takes his seat as judge and my suspicious dislike of the man rises like bitter bile in my throat. He reads the charges and commands Caesarius to proceed.

Caesarius asks Garbag for his name, station and a brief description of the events that took place that fateful day in January. In a frightened but clear voice Garbag answers, finishes and looks at Raymond who gives an imperceptible nod. Caesarius waits.

Silence drifts through the refractory like an unspoken threat, tightening frayed nerves like a bowstring. Garbag shuffles his feet. Silence. He looks up as if to add something then looks down again. Silence. The air in the makeshift court is stifling, oppressive like that breathless stillness before the Mistral.

Caesarius walks over to Garbag and in a sibilant whisper, more menacing than a shout, he hisses: “You lie. You went to the Church of St Gilles with the express intent of murdering the Cistercian monk Pierre de Castelnau and I will prove it.”

Garbag’s face is as white as newly fulled cloth. Too terrified to reply he stands there in dumb misery, shaking his head.

“You admitted to this court that you were in the company of Jean and Berri, two pursuivants of the Lord of Cardaillac. How you journeyed together with them all the way, ate with them, drank with them and stayed with them at the same inn, namely the Three Crowns and went to Mass together at the Church of St Gilles before returning home … is it not so?”

“Yes, my lord, that is so.”

“Yet these men are devout Cathars … are they not?”

“Yes, my lord.” Garbag swallows hard.

“And therefore known heretics?”

 “Yes, my lord.” Garbag looks down at his feet.

“Heretics … who would willingly murder those faithful to the Orthodox Roman faith?”

“No one has ever done so in the Languedoc!” Garbag looks up, shocked.

“Until now. Now when you conspired with these villeins to murder the papal legate de Castelnau.”

“Never, my lord, never!” he blurts out.

Caesarius changes tack. “Are you loyal to your liege lord, varlet?”

“With all my heart and soul! I would willingly die for my Count,” he lifts his head proudly.

“And those who were with you, are they loyal bond servants?” the question seems innocent enough.

“Anyone in Languedoc will give their life for Count Raymond.” Garbag’s eyes flash.

“And … if … someone vilely slandered your liege lord?” Caesarius leads carefully.

“I would run him through with my dagger!” Garbag replies fiercely.

“As you did with de Castelnau?” Caesarius snaps the trap shut.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Garbag answers despairingly. “I did not kill the papal legate.”

“Yet you were in the company of those who did. If you did not murder him, you were an accomplice. Why else would you have fled to Beaucaire if you were not guilty?” Caesarius’ voice cuts like frozen steel.

“My lord, I did not flee. I went to my liege lord, Count of Toulouse and told him all the truth,” Garbag struggles in the trap and looks around wildly.

“So … the Count told you to flee to Beaucaire?” Caesarius reminds me of nothing more than a snake ready to strike.

Garbag hangs his head in silence.

“I asked you a question, varlet. Did he or did he not urge you to flee to Beaucaire?” Caesarius’ voice slithers closer for the kill.

“Yes.” Garbag looks like a whipped cur and my heart goes out to him.

“Thank you. Now varlet, tell us why you, a common stable boy, journeyed from Muret all the way to St Gilles?” Caesarius demands, casually studying his fingernails.

Garbag’s head jerks up and his eyes widen as they rest on Raymond, who stiffens beside me. The business we entrusted to Garbag is very delicate and no doubt these judges would very much like to know about it.

“I had to deliver a message,” Garbag replies in confusion.

“But you are a stable boy, not a herault or even a pursuivant?” Caesarius introduces a note of mock amazement into his voice. Garbag squirms with humiliation as a ripple of derisive laughter eddies through the court.

Silently Garbag weighs his options. He has already compromised Raymond by admitting he commanded him to flee to Beaucaire. To confess that he is our spy at Muret will lead to more dangerous disclosures. He stubbornly remains silent.

“Tell us about the message, varlet,” Caesarius invites, his voice soft and seductive.

Garbag shakes his head and remains silent.

“I need not remind you that you are standing in the presence of our Papal Legate and therefore in the presence of the Holy Father himself. Tell us about the message,” the voice is slightly louder, more insistent.

Garbag shakes his head and I see tears streaming down his hollow cheeks.

“You’re silence only serves to proclaim your guilt. If you refuse to tell us about the message, we can only assume there was none. That you’re sole purpose in making this journey was to murder Pierre de Castelnau. If you did not stab him yourself then you are an accessory to this murder!” There is an unmistakable note of triumph in Caesarius’ voice.

“My lord, as God is my witness I am innocent!” the anguished cry reverberates off the walls.

“Tell us about the message,” Caesarius insists.
Garbag shakes his head.

“Then you are guilty not only of murder but of disobedience to the Church,” Caesarius moves in an even more dangerous direction.

“Oh blessed Mother of God please help me for I am innocent even as your Son was innocent,” Garbag weeps.

“Do not add blasphemy to your other sins!” Aimery thunders from his seat. His words strike a chill in every heart.

“Dominus Dominic, you are here to represent the accused. Do you have any questions?” Aimery asks impatiently.

“None, your Grace,” Dominic answers with a depreciating smile and I suddenly realise he never had any intention of defending Garbag; this trial and its outcome was a foregone conclusion. All that remains is for Aimery to pass sentence.

“Dominus Heisterbach, do you have any further questions?” Aimery asks.

“None, your Grace,” he bows deeply.

 “Then villein, as you obstinately refuse to answer the question put to you, I pronounce you guilty of conspiracy to murder Papal Legate Pierre de Castelnau and sentence you to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.” With that Aimery and the officiating canonists rise and leave.

Garbag slumps to the floor sobbing but the papal soldiers pull him roughly to his feet. I rush over and they stand to attention as Raymond walks up more slowly and lays his huge hand on the lad’s tousled head. Looking up Garbag wipes his nose on the back of his tattered sleeve.

“I am sorry my lord, I failed you. I am so sorry. Forgive me,” he weeps and the tears make little runnels down his sallow, dirty cheeks.

“No Garbag, it is I who failed you. I trusted in those I should not have. Like any knight of St Gilles you bore yourself bravely in the face of overwhelming odds and I am proud of you. Your battle was more dangerous than any out in the field. God be with you.”

Turning on his heel Raymond walks away stiffly; his back has not yet healed from the scourging. The soldiers jostle Garbag out while I tarry alone in the silence now invading the monastery’s refectory, reluctant to leave. Could anyone have foreseen this wicked trap Aimery set for us? Could anyone foresee the consequences of this injustice?

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Title:	Kill them all!
Author:	Lènor Tancred
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