A Murderous Procession aka The Assassin

shoulder aching badly, berated the guards on behalf of Boggart who, as she pointed out, should be eating for two, but the rations weren’t increased so she went without herself.

And still Rowley didn’t come for them.

Eventually, they stopped singing; emaciation does not lend itself to song. Mostly they sat quietly Even Adelia had given up pointing out that the length of their incarceration proved that Aveyron was waiting for word from Figeres before he took any action-there had been time for it to come many times over.

It was Ulf, next door, who tired her even more. His youth gave him the energy to be furious at what, he had now contrived to believe, was treachery to Adelia, not Ermengarde, a theory he kept putting forward to her through the bars of his cell.

“They was after you,” he insisted.

“They were after Ermengarde,” she said wearily “They just happened to capture us with her and thought we were Cathars.”

“Oh, I grant you the bastards were after Ermengarde, but who told them where she was knowing we were with her and they’d take us for Cathars? Eh? Tell me that. She and Aelith had been refugin’ in that cottage for months, why did the bastards come for her when we were there? Eh? Too much of a coincidence if you ask me.”

There was a simpler explanation and Adelia had pressed her face closer to the bars of her door so that she could voice it quietly because it was too awful to be spoken out loud.

“Ulf, it was us. Rowley and Locusta were riding back and forth to the cowshed every day. Two well-dressed men like that-they were bound to attract the attention of people on the road. They made somebody curious; perhaps he crept up the hill to find out where they were going, saw the Cathar women, spread the word. God forgive us, it was us. We led Aveyron’s men to her…” She couldn’t finish.

But Ulf equated their misfortune to others that had marred Adelia’s progress on the journey: the death of the horse that had thrown her, the murder of Brune who had railed against her. “I tell you, some bugger was out to bring you down. You, not her.”

Hunger and her aching collarbone brought on a terrible irritation. “Well, they’ve done it, haven’t they?” she shouted. “And all of you with me.” She heard her voice rippling along the tunnel, carrying defeat with it, and tried to make amends: “But Rowley will come, I know it.”

She no longer knew it, and after that she gave up saying so.

THE RATTLE OF KEYS coming down the steps from the guardroom brought the prisoners’ bodies to attention and slaver to their mouths, but bewilderment to their minds. Had another twenty-four hours gone by? It wasn’t time for their meal yet.

Though light came into the tunnel, their doors remained locked. Hauling herself up so that she could look through the bars, Adelia saw Father Gerhardt standing outside Mansur, Ulf, and Rankin’s cell. There was a scroll in his hands, and his teeth were showing in the glare of torchlight held for him by one of the guards. “Can all of you hear me?”

Nobody answered; they could hear him.

He began reading. “Hereby is notification from our good and saintly Bishop of Aveyron that the five Cathars in his custody have been found guilty of the most foul sin of heresy. Whereof it has been witnessed that they did congregate in a hut in the hills to perform wicked acts, the devil manifesting himself to them in the shape of a black dog, the Cathars prostrating themselves before it and performing lewd dances…”

There was uproar from the men’s cell; Mansur was shouting in Arabic, Rankin in Gaelic. Above them both rose Ulf’s voice: “Witnessed? Who witnessed that? Give us his name, you bastard.”

“… after which each applied his and her lips to the creature’s rear end in a kiss and did begin copulating with one another…”

“Dog?” asked Boggart, trying to hear. “Only dog we got was Ward.”

Adelia shook her head. Inevitably a dog. Or a goat. Sometimes a cat or toad. And always the osculum infame, the obscene kiss. It was the age-old accusation made against Jews, supposed witches, heretics; never varying except in small detail. God, how tired she was.

Ulf was continuing to demand the name of their accuser. “You bastard, we ain’t even had a trial.”

Stop it, she thought. Darling boy, save your breath. Were not under Henry Plantagenet’s justice now. No trial here, no defense, just sentence.

Father Gerhardt went steadily on, his rising staccato drowning Ulf’s shouts like a hammer. “In accord with which acts, it has been agreed that such wickedness has proved these heretics barred from the mercy of Christ and that their bodies must suffer the penalty of burning that their souls might appear before God’s great Judgment Seat in some part purified cf their great sins. The sentence to be carried out at twelve noon tomorrow.”

The priest rolled up the scroll and signaled to the guards to light him back to the steps.

Ulf’s voice became a scream. “In the name o’ God, send to Carcassonne, ask the Bishop of Saint Albans. We ain’t Cathars, he’ll tell you.”

“Your bishop is no longer at Carcassonne; he has gone down into Italy”

“Send to Figeres, then.”

The priest paused and turned. His smile, if it was a smile, widened. “We have sent,” he said, “and received a reply They don’t know you.”

Adelia let go of the bars and slid down to the floor. A small hand felt for hers in the darkness. There was a whisper. “Burn us? They going to burn us?”

She was dumb.

“Cut me,” Boggart said urgently. “You got to cut me.”

Adelia held her close. “Shhh.”

“Get the baby out. Don’t let ’em burn my baby Cut my belly open, get the baby out. Pull it. You can do that.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. I can’t. Almighty God help us, I can’t do anything.”

“IT IS DONE, Wolf, my love. The long plan, all our wiles and stratagems have borne their fruit. She’ll die screaming. And, yes, we shall be there, you and I. We will creep away to watch her burn, sniff the smell of roasting pig, see her pork form a rich crackling before she crumbles to cinders. Quae vide, my Lupus. See what I have achieved in your name and be proud of me.”

BOGGART WAS QUIET NOW. They were all quiet. Adelia’s cell was full of Allie and music. She watched her child dance, the little hands waving.

The notes became discordant, changing into the rattle of keys.

God, they’re here. Allie. Not yet, not yet. Jesus, I’m so afraid.

They were opening the men’s door. A kerfuffle-bless them, they won’t go without a fight. Me, too. I’ll run on their spears. God be with me in this, the hour of my death.

She was so deaf and blind with terror that she didn’t hear her own cell door opening, nor see the light as it shone on where she crouched, clutching Boggart in her arms.

And then Mansur was in front of her, holding out his hand. Yes, my dear, I’ll go with you. Just stay close, promise to stay close.

Ulf and Rankin, they were all there. And, behind them, somebody else, telling her something… about shoes?

“Take them off,” he was saying. “Tuck them in your belt. Is the woman sensible? And the Boggart’s. Quiet as mice, now.”

She’d heard the voice before, seen the man; couldn’t put a name to him. But now here was Ulf’s face, alight and eager. “Come on, missus, ups-a-daisy.” He leaned down and snatched off her shoe, the only one she had.