Chapter 45
The Humiliation of Raymond
No single
thing abides; and all things are fucked up – Philip K. Dick
Social
groups are likewise organized by fields, as in schools of fish and flocks of
birds. Human societies have memories that are transmitted through the culture
of the group, and are most explicitly communicated through the ritual
re-enactment of a founding story or myth, as in the Jewish Passover
celebration, the Christian Holy Communion and the American thanksgiving dinner,
through which the past become present through a kind of resonance with those
who have performed the same rituals before.- Rupert Shelldrake
Joshua
could not bare to watch. His friend and
lord, Count Raymond, bound and unshirted, hunched over the steps of the Church
of St. Giles in Toulouse accepted his penance with bravery and grace. A rough rope around the Count’s neck held him
up should his pain make him lose his footing.
The white of his pale skin became striped with red, as the lashes of
birch springs came and came again upon him.
Twenty bishops were in attendance, and all of Toulouse and vicinity
crowded around to witness the humbling of the noble. Joshua suspected that many of the peasants
there quite enjoyed the spectacle of the fallen liege lord. Joshua observed the proceedings from a nearby
window of one of his friends’ houses, a Cathar, ironically enough. And though part of Joshua wished to blame the
Cathars for Raymond’s punishment, he knew Raymond was to blame for his own
indiscretions, though he was not certain if the count had killed Peter, the
Pope’s legate. None of this would have
happened if Raymond had not allowed it.
The
Pope had demanded justice, and had immediately excommunicated Raymond upon
hearing the news of the murder of Peter at the reconciliation meeting. It was only the Count’s skill at diplomacy
that had saved him at all. And so it was
that through entreaty, begging, and more promises that Raymond was given yet
one more chance.
It
was still cool that morning of June 18, the year 1209 in Toulouse. Raymond had promised his undying fealty to
the Pope and his legates, had promised to collect the Church’s tithe from his
subjects and from his own treasury, to pursue all heretics with zeal, to join
in the coming Crusades againxt the Cathars, providing men, horses, arms and
logistical support to Arnold Amaury, and to accept this public humiliation as
the price of his return to the good graces of the Church.
Raymond
did his best to stifle his cries of agony as the scourge fell again and again
on his back, but gasps came from his lips none the less, as pieces of his flesh
flew from his wounds. Before him Amaury
prayed and conjoled exhortions of piety from the humiliated lord of Toulouse
between his muffled cries. A small pile
of holy relics lay before the count’s feet, and on this his eyes were fastened.
With each lash, Joshua’s eyes
closed, as he could not bare to see his friend so abused for standing up for
his own subjects. Why had the count
refused to obey the church for so long?
Joshua knew the answer, it was simple:
Raymond had no desire to launch a campaign against his own subjects, his
own friends and family, like so many of the lords of Languedoc. He had made false promises for so many years,
that he had been excommunicated three times before this last time. But Joshua knew that that would have to end now. The Pope had declared war against the
Cathars, and this was the Church’s first true victory against the heretical
sect. Amaury’s troops were gathered to
the north, awaiting their leader’s return, with the reinforcements from Raymond
before they would enter the country and wage their holy war.
Joshua
sighed, when at last Amaury announced Raymond’s penance over, his sins
expunged, and the bloodied scourge of birch cast down. Raymond was unbound, and to his credit,
though hoppled by his ordeal, he did not fall to the ground. A mute sign of defiance and courage, the
Cabalist noted.
“Is
it over then?” Joshua’s Bon Homme friend asked.
“It
seems to be. They’re leading Raymond
into the church now. But, I fear your
troubles are just beginning.”
Just
over a month later, the repentant Count of Toulouse, on the Feast of Saint Mary
Magdelane, watched the massive funeral pyre that was once the city of Bezier,
and his heart had rejoined the rebellion.
copyright 2017 Diana Hignutt
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