My Beloved (30 page)

She would have done anything for him.

“And I told him that I'm sure you weren't near the river, my lady, but we looked through the upper bailey and you were not to be found.”

Juliana turned, smiled down at her attendant. Her tone was soft, the words curious. “Grazide, do you never, ever hush?”

The shorter woman looked taken aback, but only momentarily. “My husband used to ask me the same thing, my lady. Why, he would sometimes sit and stare at the fire while I spoke with him, not saying one word. It might have been that he was not in the same room, for all that I saw his body. Up until the day he died he looked just so. There were times that I despaired of him ever answering me.” The rest of her words trailed off into a rambling monologue.

Across the table, she and Sebastian exchanged a look of amusement. Evidently, there were some things that never changed, despite how courageous she became.

“W
here will he go, Sebastian?” Juliana stood at his side atop the east tower, watching Jerard ride through the gate of Langlinais. He rode slowly, despite the cold weather, looking around him often as if to sear into his memory the sight of the home he'd known for the last seven years. Old Simon stood at the gatehouse, reached up to lay a hand upon his knee, then stepped back and watched him, as they all did, pass through the gate.

Juliana felt tears mist in her eyes. Sebastian held her hand in his, their fingers entwined. “I have given him property north of here. A section of land I won in a tourney and was going to surrender to the Templars.”

“I will miss him.”

“Loyalty is a virtue much espoused, but difficult to find. He is the most faithful of knights,” Sebastian said, watching as Jerard turned and was lost from sight.

She pulled her hand free from his, stepped back. Would he think her actions disloyal? She would know in the next moment.

“I have done something, Sebastian, of which you will not approve.”

He turned and looked at her, his lips curved in a smile. “Have you lain with another?”

She frowned, then shook her head.

“Stolen my money?”

“No, Sebastian.”

“Then what have you done?”

“Is that all that matters to you, that I might have taken your money or been adulterous?”

“In truth,” he said, one arm extending around her waist, “the money does not concern me as much as the other. I should hate to spend my days kneeling before the altar praying for forgiveness.”

“Why would you do that, Sebastian?”

“Because I would have to kill him, my lady wife.” He leaned down, kissed the tip of her nose. “Your eyes are so wide, Juliana. Did you not think I would guard those I love?”

“If I felt much the same, would you be as understanding?”

“What have you done?” His smile had not diminished.

“Copied the scrolls.”

At his silence, she modified her statement. “In truth, only the codex.”

He glanced away from her, looked out toward the north, in the direction Jerard was to travel.

“Why, Juliana?” He spoke into the distance. Was he displeased?

“Because something might happen to Jerard. Or the scrolls might be destroyed. Or, we might be besieged and need them close at hand in order to bargain.”

He turned to look at her. “Why did you not think of all these arguments before we decided to send the scrolls with Jerard?”

“Is it not better to have a copy, Sebastian? For the same reasons?”

“It was not an option I'd considered,” he said, picking up her right hand. “You were able to do this? Without pain?”

There were scars upon her hands. She could not deny their existence; she would always bear them. Nor did she have as much strength in her fingers as she had before, but that was not something she would mention to him.

“I am slower than before,” she admitted, “but it was not that difficult. Even if it had been, I would have completed it.” She stood tall before him, looked at him directly. “I will not have you harmed, Sebastian.”

“My fierce Juliana,” he said, bringing her fingers to his lips and brushing a kiss over them. “When you first came into my life,” he said softly, “I prayed for your safety, that you might be guarded against the Templars and from me. I am a knight, trained for war, and yet you would stand between me and harm.”

He touched her cheek with a fingertip. “I am not sure I agree with what you have done, Juliana, but I cherish the reason behind your actions. If there is a true miracle in my life, it is you.”

“Sebastian, how can you say that? You have been spared exile and a living death.”

“What if I had not had leprosy?” he asked softly. “What if the physician who examined me and declared me a leper was wrong?”

“You would question the nature of a miracle, Sebastian?”

“I have done so endlessly,” he admitted, looking down at her. His eyes, those lovely blue eyes of his, seemed to darken as he studied her. “I ask myself if
such a thing happened because I touched the relics. Or was it the sun upon my skin for the first time in years? Or Sister Agnes's unguent? Or perhaps because I had worn my armor, instead of that cursed robe?”

“Is it important that you know, Sebastian? What if you never do?” Her left hand cupped the side of his face.

He picked up her hand again, turned it over, bent, and placed a kiss upon her palm. His smile altered in nature, seemed to hold only the purest joy. “Then I will live each day and bless our deliverance, whatever the cause.”

He extended his arm around her, laid his cheek on the crown of her hair.

The moment was silent, the thoughts each held remarkably similar. Perhaps it wasn't important to gauge a miracle, to mark it and record it and prove it. Perhaps the greatest wonder was the touch of a hand in friendship and the joy of a heart. They belonged together, and the fact that they stood linked in each other's arms was proof enough that sometimes events happened that defied explanation. In mind and body and spirit they were joined and would be, perhaps, until time ceased to measure the passing of decades and the onset of centuries.

G
ertrude received the missive with mixed feelings of curiosity and alarm. Did the Lord of Langlinais wish the relics returned, then? She'd grown accustomed to having them at the convent these past months, had grown familiar with the feeling of awe she felt when viewing them, had drawn a great deal of comfort from their presence.

She opened the letter with some trepidation, but smiled as she read it.

Gertrude smiled. Perhaps the mystery of Juliana had been solved at last. The girl's talent might lie in the scriptorium, but her greatest blessing was the ability to love. That was evident in the tone of this letter. The Lord of Langlinais was obviously deeply in love with his wife.

The last two sentences of the letter amused her. She read it again.

She folded the letter, stood, and walked down the silent corridor, her destination the large and sunny solar where the sisters who did such things embroidered. She would deliver the commission and then arrange for the volumes to be sent to the Lord of Langlinais. She smiled again, certain that both errands would please husband and wife.

H
istory is littered with lies. Rumor is often converted to fact with only time as its validation. Therefore, where there was rumor, or supposition, or conjecture, I have played with “what if's” because fiction allows for interpretation.
My Beloved
is as historically accurate as I can make it within the framework of my imagination.

The Cathars, also known as the Albigensian movement, were real. There were various sects of the religion, each of which varied in their interpretation of accepted belief, probably not unlike the Protestant denominations we know today. The siege against the Cathars and their ultimate fate was unfortunately real. And although Montvichet is fictional, there are historical models such as Queribus and Minerve. While there were rumors of Templar involvement in the betrayal that condemned the Cathar women and children, it cannot be proven true or false. Therefore, it must remain one of those mysteries of the ages, along with the persistent hints that the Templars actually possessed the Holy Grail.

The Poor Knights of the Order of the Temple of Solomon—the Knights Templar—are often conveyed as being heroically knightly. I believe that
they were a devoted and devout group of men whose leaders lost sight of the aim for their ambition. They were for the most part misogynist, few of them were actually knights, and few could read. The expression “he can drink like a Templar” had roots in truth. But they were great fighters, and were helpful in establishing the banking, currency, and credit systems we know today. Perhaps the almost legendary aura that still surrounds them is due mainly to the way they were rounded up on Friday, the thirteenth and the Order systematically eradicated.

Hildegard of Bingen actually lived. A German abbess, she was consulted as a prophetess by heads of state. In addition to her visions, she was renowned for her musical compositions such as
Ordo Virtutum
(written before 1158), one of the first examples of a morality play, for her poetic works, and her studies on natural history and medicine.

One of the earliest known female scribes was Ende, who assisted in the preparation of a Spanish work of the vision of St. John the Divine in 789. Documentation from the ninth century lists a number of manuscripts attributed to women scribes, their work mostly done in convents.

Leprosy was not easily diagnosed in the Middle Ages, and was often confused with eczema, psoriasis, scrofula, skin cancers, and even allergies. Therefore, people could be—and were—condemned to being one of the living dead when their conditions were relatively minor. The Mass of Separation was also, regrettably, real.

Any errors in translating the poetry of Catullus are mine.

It is impossible to write a book using the historical backdrop of the Middle Ages without considering the impact of the Church. Not one facet of medieval
life was free of its influence. The convents and the monasteries that dotted the medieval landscape achieved what could not have been accomplished by kings or emperors. By teaching the same words and practices throughout the world, the Church brought people together, gave them one set of beliefs. Faith alone had united Europe. But it was vital for the foundations of that faith to be forever considered sacrosanct and inviolate and not open to interpretation. Seven hundred years later, however, I am able to do so.