Mylio the Trouvere composed this song, and throughout the country sang it from place to place while the army of the Crusaders marched upon the city and Castle of Lavaur.[4]
Son of Joel, the following scenes take place in a beautiful villa that has been abandoned by its heretic owners, lies at only a short distance from the castle of Giraude, the Lady of Lavaur, and is now besieged by the Crusaders. The retreat is occupied by the general of the Army of the Faith, Simon, Count of Montfort. He is accompanied by his wife Alyx of Montmorency, who only recently joined her husband in Languedoc. The tents of the seigneurs lie scattered around the house occupied by their chief. The camp itself, formed of huts of earth or of tree branches in which the soldiers are bivouacked, lies at a distance. The mass of serfs, who availed themselves of the opportunity to leave their masters' fields under the pretext of joining the hunt of heretics, but who were attracted mainly by the prospect of pillage, lie on the bare ground and shelterless.
It is night. A wax candle sheds a dim light in one of the lower apartments of the villa. A large fire burns in the hearth, the evening being cool. Two knights are engaged in conversation near the fire. One is Lambert, Seigneur of Limoux, who, at the Blois Court of Love, filled the functions of Conservator of the High Privileges of Love. The other is Hugues, Seigneur of Lascy, ex-Seneschal of Sweet-Marjoram in the same Court. Although now in full armor, the fur cap that he wears exposes a bandage around his head. The knight was wounded at the siege of Lavaur.
Hugues of Lascy (addressing his companion who has just entered the room)—"Montfort now rests somewhat more easily. One of his equerries, who just left the patient's room, told me that the count was sleeping and that his fever seems to have gone down."
Lambert of Limoux—"So much the better, because I have just notified Alyx of Montmorency that she should no longer count upon the physician whom she expected from Lavaur."
Hugues of Lascy—"Who is he?"
Lambert of Limoux—"Seeing this morning that Montfort was a prey to a high fever and to a painful oppression of the chest that her own surgeon equerry was unable to relieve, the countess remembered having heard one of our prisoners say that the most famous physician of this country, a fanatical heretic, was at the Castle of Lavaur. The countess ordered the prisoner to be brought to her, and offered to set him free upon condition that he would convey to the physician a letter in which a safe conduct was promised him if he consented to come and attend to Montfort, after which the celebrated Esculapius was to be free to return to the beleaguered city."
Hugues of Lascy—"What an imprudence! How can the countess entrust so precious a life to the care of a heretic?"
Lambert of Limoux—"Dismiss your fears. The scamp immediately left on his errand, and at the solicitation of the countess I waited for the physician at our advanced posts. I waited until now to bring him here. But night set in; he has not appeared; we need no longer expect him. Nevertheless, I left orders for him to be brought hither in case that he should still present himself at the camp, which is highly improbable."
Hugues of Lascy—"The countess has lost her wits. How could she think of entrusting Montfort's life to an enemy!"
Lambert of Limoux—"I raised the objection to Alyx of Montmorency. Her answer was that seeing the physician in question is one of those whom these damned heretics call 'Perfects', the man would certainly carry his hypocrisy to the point of not betraying the trust reposed in him. She thinks so because the affectation of honesty on the part of these wretches goes beyond all bounds. It is the sublimity of knavery."
Hugues of Lascy—"No doubt these fanatics are capable of the most wicked affectation, in order to give themselves the semblance of virtue."
Lambert of Limoux—"There is one thing, however, that is no false semblance, and that is the inveterate resistance offered by these people of Lavaur. Do you know that they defend themselves like lions? Blood of Christ, it looks like a dream! The siege of this accursed town, that has already cost us many captains and soldiers, has now lasted nearly a month, while Chasseneuil, Beziers and Carcassonne were taken almost without striking a blow. These fellows of Lavaur are rude customers!"
Hugues of Lascy—"Their determined and also unexpected resistance, not hitherto encountered by us since our invasion of Albigeois, is attributed to the enthusiasm that certain furiously savage poems are said to have kindled among the people, and which are being sung from place to place by Mylio the Trouvere, the same whom we knew in northern Gaul."
Lambert of Limoux—"That Mylio must be among the besieged. No doubt it is he who is pricking the Lady of Lavaur, one of the most embittered heretics of the country, to offer the desperate resistance that we meet."
Hugues of Lascy (with a cruel smile)—"Patience! Patience! This is not a Court of Love where warriors bow down before the authority of women. Blood of Christ! When we shall have seized this infernal castle, a terrible court of justice will be held within its walls, and the Lady of Lavaur will be proclaimed Queen of the Pyre."
Lambert of Limoux—"And after the execution of the she-cat we shall salute you 'Seigneur of Lavaur;' happy Lascy! Montfort has promised the seigniory to you; it is one of the most valuable of Albigeois; and he never fails in his word toward the faithful."
Hugues of Lascy—"Will you envy me the gift? Has not Montfort, who is now the master and conqueror of the region, bestowed several of the seigniories upon chiefs of our Crusade? He may bestow one upon you also!"
Lambert of Limoux—"May heaven keep me from entertaining any jealousy towards you! As to me, my part is done. And to speak truly, the good bags of gold and the fine silver vessel that I captured at the sack of Beziers, and which are safely kept in my baggage, are, to my mind, preferable to all the domains of Albigeois. One can not carry home with him either lands or castles, and the chances of war are risky. But I hope that I shall have nothing more to fear from that quarter after the 10th of this month."
Hugues of Lascy—"What does that date signify?"
Lambert of Limoux—"The day after that date the forty days will have expired that are all a Crusader owes to a holy war. The forty days begin from the moment he sets foot upon the heretical land. After that he can ride with his men back to his own manor. And that is what I purpose to do—"
The confidential unbosoming on the part of the ex-Conservator of the High Privileges of Love is at this point interrupted by one of the equerries of the Count of Montfort, who comes running out of the neighboring chamber.
Hugues of Lascy—"Where are you running to in that way? What pressing business have you in hand?"
Equerry—"Oh, sire, the count is in great danger. He lies in the agony of death!"
Hugues of Lascy—"But only a short while ago he was resting calmly, and the fever had abated? What change has come over him?"
Equerry—"The count just woke up and is almost suffocated. I am running after Abbot Reynier by order of the countess. She wishes him to administer the extreme unction to the seigneur, and open for him the gates of paradise."
The equerry runs off on his errand, and is barely away when a soldier enters and says to Lambert of Limoux:
"Seigneur, I have brought to you the heretic of Lavaur, whom I was ordered to wait for at our advanced posts. He asks to be allowed to enter."
Lambert of Limoux—"Let him in!—Let him in—He could arrive at no more opportune moment."
Hugues of Lascy—"Do you insist on trusting Montfort's life to that damned heretic? You are assuming a grave responsibility."
Lambert of Limoux—"I shall take him to Alyx of Montmorency.—It will be for her to decide in this grave emergency."
The soldier enters with Karvel the Perfect. The latter's physiognomy is stamped with his habitual serenity. He holds a little casket in one hand and salutes the knights in the chamber.
Lambert of Limoux (to Karvel)—"Follow me. I shall take you to Alyx of Montmorency, the worthy spouse of the Count of Montfort."
Simon, Count of Leicester and of Montfort-L'Amaury lies on a bed in great agony. Alyx of Montmorency, a woman barely thirty years old, is on her knees near her husband's couch.
Lambert of Limoux introduces Karvel the Perfect to Alyx and withdraws, leaving him in the chamber.
Alyx of Montmorency (crossing herself, addresses the physician in a feeble voice)—"You have been long in coming. It may now be too late!"
Karvel—"We have many wounded in Lavaur. My first assistance was due to them. You have summoned me in the name of humanity. I have come, madam, to fill a sacred duty."
Alyx of Montmorency—"At times it pleases the Lord to avail Himself of the most perverse instruments in behalf of His elect!"
Karvel (smiles at the singular reception and approaches the couch of Simon whose haggard face and fixed eyes seem to give no sign of intelligence. After a long and attentive examination of the patient, after placing his hand on the count's forehead, slightly touching his parched lips with his fingers and consulting his pulse, addresses the countess)—"Your husband must be quickly bled, madam. (Saying this he draws from his pocket a reticule that contains a red cloth band and lancets; he picks out one of these and adds) Kindly draw this table and candle nearer, madam; I shall then want your assistance to support your husband's arm. The silver basin that I see on yonder shelf will serve to receive the blood in. I recommend to you, madam, not to allow the count to bend his arm when I prick it. There is an artery that my lancet might cut, if the arm is not held steady—and that would prove mortal."
Alyx of Montmorency (impassible)—"My husband can die. He is in the state of grace."
For an instant stupefied by such frigid insensibility, Karvel stays his hand, but his professional instinct resumes the ascendency, and he boldly and dexterously lances the vein, from which a jet of thick black blood immediately issues and falls steaming into the silver basin.
Karvel—"What black blood! The bleeding will, I hope, save your husband, madam!"
Alyx of Montmorency—"The will of God be done! May His name be glorified."
The patient's blood continues to flow into the silver vessel. Only the muffled and continued sound of the trickling blood interrupts the otherwise profound silence of the chamber. The Perfect attentively watches the count's face and notices the gradual manifestations of the beneficent effect produced by the blood letting. The patient's skin, until then parched and burning, is gradually suffused with a copious perspiration. His chest is relieved. His fixed eyes are soon covered by their lids. Karvel again consults the count's pulse, and cries delighted: "He is saved!"
Alyx of Montmorency (raising her eyes to the ceiling)—"Lord, since it pleases You to leave my husband in this valley of tears and misery—may Your will be done! May Your holy name be glorified!"
Karvel stops the flow of the blood with the red bandage, which he rolls around the count's arm. He then steps to the casket that he brought with him and which he placed upon a table, takes from it several vials and prepares a potion. Montfort's condition improves as if by enchantment. He gradually recovers from his lethargy, and heaves a sigh of profound relief. The Perfect finishes the preparation of the potion, steps back to the couch and says to the countess:
"Please raise your husband's head, madam, and help me to make him drink this potion that will restore his strength. All danger of death is now removed."
Alyx of Montmorency follows Karvel's instructions. The effect of the potion is not long in manifesting itself. Montfort's gaze, that until then seemed vague and wandering, falls upon the physician. He contemplates Karvel in silence for a moment, and turning his head toward the countess while he painfully raises his arm to point at the Perfect, he asks in a feeble and hollow voice: "Who is that man?"
Alyx of Montmorency—"It is the heretic Lavaur physician whom we sent for."
At these words Simon shudders with surprise and horror. He closes his eyes and seems to be steeped in thought. After depositing a little flask on the table, Karvel closes his casket, takes it in his hands and says to the countess:
"Madam, you will give your husband a mouthful of the potion in this flask every hour during the night. I think that will suffice to restore the count to health. He shall have to keep his bed two or three days. And now, adieu; the wounded of Lavaur are waiting for me."
Montfort (seeing his savior moving towards the door, rises on his elbow and says to Karvel in an imperative tone)—"Stop! (The Perfect hesitates to obey the count; the latter rings a bell that lies near him and says to one of the equerries who answer the call). That physician shall not leave the place without my orders."
The equerry bows and leaves the chamber.
Montfort—"Listen, physician, I am expert on courage. You have given a proof of courage in coming hither—alone—in the lion's den—"
Karvel—"Your wife summoned me to your camp in the name of humanity. You are a human being—you suffered—I hastened to you. Moreover, I thought it well to prove once more how these 'heretics,' these 'monsters'—against whom so many horrors have been unchained—practice the evangelical morality of Jesus. You are our implacable enemy, Montfort, and yet I am glad to have saved your life."
Montfort—"Blaspheme not! You have only been the vile instrument of the will of God, Who has willed to spare my life, the life of His unworthy servant, the life of the humble sword of His triumphant Church.—But I repeat it. You are a brave fellow. As such you interest me. I would like to save your soul."
Karvel—"Do not trouble yourself about that. Only let me return without delay to Lavaur, where our wounded await my services."
Montfort—"No! You shall not depart so soon!"
Karvel—"You have the power. I submit (After a moment's reflection) Seeing that you oppose my departure, seeing that you believe you owe me some gratitude, pay the debt by sincerely answering me a few questions."
Montfort—"I allow you to speak."
Karvel—"Your valor is well known.—Your morals are austere.—You are humane towards your soldiers. At the crossing of the Durance you were seen to throw yourself into the water to save a foot-soldier who was being carried off by the current."
Montfort (brusquely)—"Enough! Enough! You shall not awaken in my soul the demon of pride! I am only an earthly worm!"
Karvel—"I am not flattering you.—You are accessible to humane promptings. Now, then, tell me, did you not moan at the fate of the sixty thousand creatures of God—men, women and children—who were massacred in Beziers by orders issued by yourself and the papal legate?"
Montfort—"Never did I feel greater exaltation. To obey the Pope is to obey God!"
Karvel (struck by the sincerity of Montfort's tone, remains pensive for a moment)—"The delirium of war is blind, I know. But after the battle is over, after the sanguinary fever is cooled down, still to order in cold blood the massacre of thousands of unarmed and inoffensive beings, women and children—it is shocking! Think of it, Montfort, to order the massacre of children!"
Montfort (afflicted)—"Oh! How does the sacrilegious astonishment of the miscreant prove the depth of his heresy! He does not know that children die in a state of grace!"
Karvel—"Explain yourself more clearly. Be indulgent with my ignorance. Let us be definite. In a city that is taken by storm, a mother flees with her child. You slay the mother. Is that a worthy act before God?"
Montfort—"The viper that is crushed, breeds no more little ones. The supply of the miscreants is thus reduced."
Karvel—"That is logical. But why slay the child? That is an abominable act?"
Montfort—"Of what age are you supposing the child to be?"
Karvel—"I suppose it to be at its mother's breast."
Montfort—"Has it been baptized by a Catholic priest?"
Karvel—"That child at its mother's breast whom you slay—has been baptized."
Montfort—"Then it is in a state of grace and ascends straight into Paradise. As to children who are older than seven years, they go to purgatory there to await their admission in the blessed resting place. But if they have not been baptized—then the case is grave—"
Karvel—"What happens to those children?"
Montfort—"The poor little creatures, still dripping with the soilure of original sin, go straight to hell where they are forever deprived of the countenance of God. Nevertheless, in consideration of their tender years, the hope is left to them of being exempted from the everlasting flames by the prayers of the faithful—a grace that never would have fallen to their share had they been allowed to remain wallowing in the pestilence of heresy! Their death will have resulted in a mitigation of their punishment."
Karvel—"Accordingly, in these days of a 'holy war', the accidental killing of a Catholic child sends him straight to Paradise, and the slaying of a heretic child affords it a good opportunity to escape the everlasting flames, but does not snatch it out of hell!"
Montfort—"You have put it correctly. The child that is not baptized can never emerge out of hell."
Karvel—"I am now clear upon the fate of children. Let us now take up the case of women—"
Montfort—"I am anxious to save your soul. Perchance this conversation will open your eyes to the light."
Karvel—"In the Castle of Lavaur that you are now besieging there is a woman—an angel of goodness and virtue. Her name is Giraude. (The count seems to be seized with fury at the mentioning of the name and tosses on his couch). Let me finish what I have to say. Be not impatient; besides, a fit of anger might prove fatal to you in your present condition. Take a few drops of this potion. I see that your wife, piously absorbed in her orisons, forgets the creature for the Creator."
Montfort (after taking a few draughts of the potion and again heaving a sigh of relief)—"The Lord has had pity upon me, miserable sinner that I am! I feel my strength returning. May the Lord be praised! Let the heretics tremble in their burrows!"
Karvel—"The Lady of Lavaur is locked up with her son and brother in the Castle of Lavaur which you are now besieging. Giraude is an angel of virtue and goodness. Suppose that to-morrow, more successful than in your previous attacks upon the castle, you carry it by assault, and Giraude together with her son, a lad of fourteen, having escaped the general massacre, fall into your hands. What will you do with that woman and her son? Answer me, noble Count of Montfort!"
Montfort—"The papal legate will say to the heretic woman: 'Will you, yes or no, renounce Satan and re-enter into the bosom of the Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church? Will you, yes or no, renounce all your earthly goods and lock yourself up for the rest of your days in a cloister, there to expiate your past heretical life?'"
Karvel—"Giraude will answer the Pope's legate: 'I have my faith, you have yours. I wish to remain true to my religion.'"
Montfort (enraged)—"There is but one faith in the world, the Catholic faith! All who refuse to enter the pale of the Church deserve death. If the Lady of Lavaur should persist in her detestable creed, she will perish in the flames of the pyre!"
Karvel—"I know not whether you have any children. But you have a wife. Your mother still lives or has died. Think of her, you pious servant of the Church! Montfort, unconquerable warrior, you certainly loved your mother?"
Montfort (with emotion)—"Oh, yes—I loved her dearly!"
Karvel—"And yet you would mercilessly order a woman to be burned who was a model of a wife, and is a model of a mother?"
Montfort (with a sinister smile)—"And that surprises you? You take me for a ferocious man? Oh, my God! how can you do otherwise, seeing that you have no faith. If you had you would understand that, on the contrary, I act with humanity by bringing the sword and the fagot into your country."
Karvel—"Humanity in burning and massacring the heretics, and in authorizing rape and butchery?"
Montfort—"Listen, and now it will be my turn to say: Answer with sincerity. You have a wife, a mother, children, friends. You love them dearly. In your country there is a province that is a permanent hot-bed of a contagion that threatens to invade the neighboring districts, to attack your own family, your friends and the whole population. Will you, under such circumstances hesitate one instant to purify that corner of your country, even if you have to do it with fire and sword? In the very name of that humanity that you speak about, will you hesitate to sacrifice a thousand, twenty thousand infected beings in order to save millions of other human beings from the incurable pestilence? No! no! You will strike, and strike hard, and strike again. Your arm would never rest until the last one of the execrable and infected beings is dead, and has carried the last germ of the frightful disease into his tomb. And you will have performed an act of humanity."
Karvel (listens to Montfort's words with increasing emotion and intensity. For a moment he stands petrified by the sincere savagery of the chief of the Crusade. The Perfect then cries out with painful indignation)—"Oh, Catholic priests! Your infernal astuteness is such that, in order to insure the triumph of your unbridled ambition, you know how to exploit even the generous promptings of a man's heart and turn them to your own purpose!"
Montfort—"What is that you say! Impious blasphemer! Retract those infamous words!"
Karvel—"It is not you, blind and convinced fanatic, that I accuse. You said so, and you expressed your convictions. Yes, you consider yourself humane. Yes, if you slay children, it is in order to despatch them to Paradise! If you exterminate us mercilessly, it is because according to your convictions our belief damns the souls of men forever! But, good God, what a religion is that! It is a monstrous, a frightful prodigy! It so wholly dethrones man's reason and upsets his sense of right and wrong that you and your accomplices verily believe you are doing an act of piety when you carry ferocity beyond even the bounds of possibility!"
Having finished her orisons, Alyx of Montmorency rises. She overhears Karvel's last words, approaches the count and says to him in a tone of mingled terror and pain while pointing her trembling finger at the Perfect "Oh! How many souls may not that hardened sinner forever lead astray! Let him die!"
Montfort (meditatively)—"I was thinking of that—there is nothing to expect from him. (Deliberately to Karvel) Do you persist in your heresy?"
Karvel—"Hear, Montfort: at Chasseneuil, at Beziers, at Carcassonne, at Termes, at Minerve, in all the places whither the Army of the Faith carried ravage and murder, women, maids and children who escaped the massacre and were by you condemned to the pyre, threw themselves heroically into the flames rather than, even with their lips, accept that Roman Church, whose base name causes us disgust and horror. The 'heresy' has passed into our blood; our children have taken it in with their mothers' milk. Not unless you exterminate them all will you have exterminated 'heresy' from this region. The more men, women and children you slay, the vaster the regions of our country that you depopulate and turn into deserts, all the more imperishable will be the monuments raised by yourself and that will teach the next generations to execrate your Church. The air that is breathed in this region has for centuries been so impregnated by the breath of freedom, that breath is so pure and penetrating, that neither the steam from the torrents of blood that you have shed, nor yet the smoke that has gone up from the pyres that you have lighted have been able to contaminate it. Here our ancestors have lived in freedom; here we shall know how to live in freedom or to die; and here our children will emulate us and remain, like ourselves, unshackled by the Church of Rome."
While the Perfect speaks these words Montfort and his wife exchange glances alternately expressive of indignation, horror and amazement. The wan eyes of Alyx of Montmorency fill with tears. She clasps her hands and addresses the count:
"Oh! My heart bleeds like the heart of the Holy Virgin! I take You for witness, Lord God, my divine master! Strengthened by faith against the trials that it has pleased You to afflict me with for my salvation, it is long since I have wept. No; I have seen my father die and my second son; I looked upon their corpses with a tranquil eye, seeing that it was You, Oh my God, who called them unto You. To-day, however, my tears flow when I think of the thousands of poor souls whom the abominable preachings of this monster of perdition may cause to burn everlastingly in hell!"
Montfort (weeping like the countess, whom he closes in his arms)—"Console yourself, dear and saintly wife! Console yourself! We shall pray for the souls that this miscreant has damned. It has pleased the Lord to recall me to life this day. I shall prove my devout recognition by dedicating to pious works a part of the booty that we shall take at Lavaur. I shall establish masses for the repose of the souls of the heretics of this city whom I shall exterminate."
The ingenious idea of masses, especially consecrated to the repose of the souls of the heretics whom Montfort promises himself soon to put to the sword or to consign to the flames, seems to assuage the countess's grief. Suddenly the din of a distant tumult breaks in upon the silence of Montfort's sick chamber. Trumpets are heard sounding from the direction of the camp. Montfort starts, half rises on his couch, listens and cries: "Alyx, it is the call to arms! The besieged must have made a sally! This way, my equerries!—My armor!—Let my horse be saddled." Thus speaking, the count rises half naked on the couch, but enfeebled by the fever and the blood-letting, he is seized with a vertigo, his limbs tremble under him and he drops down on the bed. In dropping, the bandage of the arm unfastens, the recently lanced vein re-opens, and the blood streams out anew. Karvel hastens to the side of Montfort, who lies unconscious on the couch, and seeks to stop the flow of blood while one of the equerries breaks precipitately into the room crying:
"Seigneur!—Seigneur!—To arms!—The camp is broken into!"
Alyx of Montmorency—"What is the meaning of these trumpet blasts? Is there an engagement on?"
The Equerry—"The Seigneurs of Lascy and Limoux were in the neighboring room awaiting the orders of seigneur the count, when a knight rode in in haste to notify them that a large heretic force was seeking to enter the Castle of Lavaur under the cover of night, in order to reinforce the garrison. Hugues of Lascy and Lambert of Limoux immediately rode off with the knight and ordered a call to arms."
Karvel (attending to Montfort)—"Oh! Mylio's songs have not been vain. They have redoubled the courage of the inhabitants of Languedoc!"
A Second Equerry (enters and says to the countess)—"A messenger has just arrived. He brings information that the heretics are fighting with desperate courage. Abbot Reynier requests monseigneur to mount his horse and ride forth. It will steel the courage of our troops."
Alyx of Montmorency (pointing to the count who still lies unconscious and is being attended to by the Perfect)—"Tell the messenger of our venerable Father, Abbot Reynier, that monseigneur lies unconscious on his couch, and is unable to take horse—Go! (The equerry hastens out. Alyx raises her eyes heavenward and joins her hands.) May the Almighty watch over His elect!"
Karvel (sadly)—"Oh! How many of our brothers will not lose their lives in the attack!"
The Second Equerry (re-entering)—"A soldier has just alighted from his horse. He rode ahead of Abbot Reynier. It is said that, thanks to an intrepid sally of the besieged who came out to the help of the forces that sought to enter the castle, the pagans succeeded in making good their entry into Lavaur. Many of them, however, have been killed, wounded or taken prisoner. Lambert of Limoux and Hugues of Lascy are bringing the prisoners to camp. Abbot Reynier is with them."
Karvel (with great anxiety)—"Good God! If Mylio and his friend the juggler should happen to be among the prisoners, it will be their sentence of death."
The fears of Karvel the Perfect are verified. Mylio is a prisoner of the Crusaders. He was captured at the moment when, leading a body of men from the fields, he attempted to force an entry into Lavaur in order to reinforce the garrison. Goose-Skin also is among the prisoners. Together with the trouvere, the juggler is taken into the large hall of the villa by Lambert of Limoux and Hugues of Lascy. Karvel has remained near Montfort. Mylio is wounded. A blood-stained handkerchief bandages his arm. Although unscathed, the juggler seems to be a prey to great apprehension. Informed upon the dangerous condition of the count, Abbot Reynier proceeds to the patient's chamber, while Hugues of Lascy and Lambert of Limoux, their visors down, converse in a low voice a few paces away from the trouvere and the juggler.
Mylio (to his companion in a tone of sorrow)—"My poor Goose-Skin, you are now a prisoner—it is all my fault."
Goose-Skin (peevishly)—"Yes; it is your fault. I was dead; quite dead; could you not leave my ashes in peace?"
Mylio—"Just as, thanks to the sally of the brave men of Lavaur under Aimery, I was about to enter the town, I noticed that you were not near. I felt uneasy about you. I stopped. By the light of the moon I saw you twenty paces behind lying on your face—"
Goose-Skin—"Oxhorns! Had I lain down on my back I would have had my paunch trampled out of shape under the feet of the combatants."
Mylio—"I ran back to you thinking you were wounded. Our companions entered the town in the interval, the gate closed behind them, and—here we are, prisoners."
Goose-Skin—"What I blame you for is for having drawn upon me—good and peaceful corpse that I was—the attention of these scampish Crusaders. I heard one of them cry out: 'That mountain of meat is so enormous that I wager my pike could not transfix it. Just watch, my companions.'—"
Mylio—"And no sooner had you heard the words than you turned so prodigious a somersault that I was as happy at your resurrection as amazed at your agility. It was a wonderful jump."
Goose-Skin—"Oxhorns! A good deal less than was at stake would make one nimble. Did I not have my paunch to save?"
Mylio—"And was it for that that you prudently simulated death during the attack?"
Goose-Skin—"By the heavens! The moment that I heard those brutes of Crusaders cry: 'To arms!' I threw myself down flat, face down on the ground. And this is the way heroism is recompensed! I calculated that by bravely throwing myself as an unsurmountable obstacle between our companions and the enemy, I would cover their rear, and they would be able to enter the town in safety before the Crusaders had time to climb over my body."
Mylio—"Your good spirits have come back. So much the better."
Goose-Skin (nodding his head towards the two seigneurs, who now draw near after having raised their visors)—"Mylio, it seems to me we know these two men. May the devil take them to hell!"
Mylio (looking back)—"Hugues of Lascy? Lambert of Limoux? (addressing them in an ironical voice) All hail to the Bailiff of the Joy of Joys! By the heavens! Here we have a bit of infamous hypocrisy! Is it you, holy men, who have come to extirpate heresy in Albigeois? (Turning to Goose-Skin) Do you remember that last pleading before the Court of Love?"
Goose-Skin—"The court of ribaldry, of which these two bearers of the cross were worthy officers?"
Hugues of Lascy (to Lambert)—"Do you hear the vipers' language? Our capture is good. Since these two jugglers started over the country, the dogs of heretics have shown their teeth with greater madness! We shall know how to cure them of their madness!"
Goose-Skin (plaintively)—"Poor folks! To have become so mad! Some monk must have bitten them, not true, Seigneur Bailiff of the Joy of Joys?"
At this moment Simon of Montfort enters clad in a long brown robe that resembles a monk's frock. On one side he leans upon the arm of his wife Alyx of Montmorency, on the other upon the arm of Abbot Reynier. One of the count's equerries hastens to bring a chair for his master, the other mounts guard at the door of the contiguous apartment where Karvel the Perfect is kept a prisoner. Montfort is silent. Abbot Reynier casts upon Mylio and Goose-Skin a look of triumph and inveterate hatred. The monk has not yet forgotten the night when the trouvere and the juggler carried away Florette from the mill of Chaillotte, and left him lying bruised and disappointed on the ground.